


Never Let Me Go

by goldheartedsky, marvellingyou (tourmalinex)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1980’s AU, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Childhood Friends, Closeted Character, Declarations Of Love, Disney World Shenanigans, Falling In Love, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gay Bucky Barnes, Heavy pining, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Mention of Seizures, Nerd Bucky Barnes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Realistic Depiction of Illness, Rimming, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Steve has a dark sense of humor, Steve is dying and everything hurts, cancer fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25755976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldheartedsky/pseuds/goldheartedsky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tourmalinex/pseuds/marvellingyou
Summary: It’s the summer of 1987 and 20-year-old Steve Rogers has gotten the worst news he can ever imagine.Brain cancer. Inoperable. Four months to live.Unbeknownst to him, Bucky concocts a plan that’s even dumber than he is: drop out of NYU, clear out an entire college fund, and spend the next four months finally getting Steve outside of New York City. Two months to get to California, two months to get back home.Better get busy living, or get busy dying.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 74
Kudos: 123
Collections: Stucky Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Didn’t We Almost Have It All

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beloved Jules for giving me this fantastic mood board as inspiration to release my angst driven mind out into an unsuspecting fandom. What would I ever do without you?

* * *

“Steven, do you understand what I’m saying?”

The air conditioning kicks on again and goosebumps prickle the skin of his arms. The doctor has a stain on his shirt, just below the tarnishing silver tie clip that’s holding back a grey gingham tie. He wonders if the doctor’s noticed the stain. It looks like coffee maybe.

“Steven?”

His hands feel sweaty as he clenches them into fists. He’s got to get back to work. This appointment has already ran an hour and a half later than it was supposed to. The nurse didn’t check him in and the MRI had to be done twice. He’s going to get fired. But his job doesn’t fucking matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore.

“Steven.”

He looks up at the doctor and forces a smile. “Yeah, I understand. Brain cancer. Inoperable,” Steve mutters, scrubbing his damp palms over his jeans. “I’m going to die.”

~~~

The headache starts back up as he’s running for the train and Steve spends the entire ride fighting the nausea with his head between his knees. He’d been sick for a couple months—throwing up at work, unable to get out of bed due to headaches, memory loss—and Bucky had finally forced him to make an appointment with his doctor a week before his 20th birthday. Three weeks later and he had been referred to an oncologist and, in one single moment, Steve has had his entire life turned upside down.

The bookshop is busy when he rushes in, Bucky frantically checking out a long line. Steve shrugs off his bag and mutters, “Sorry I’m late.”

“Mr. Jacobson is gonna kill you, Stevie,” Bucky says, lifting the counter to let him into the registers. “He’s been asking about you for an hour.” Steve ducks under his arm and sets up the second register. “How was your appointment?”

He shrugs. “It was _fine_. I’ll tell you about it later.”

It comes out strained and Steve winces a little bit at his failed display of levity. Bucky’s hands freeze on the cash drawer and his brow furrows in worry but he doesn’t try and push the issue further. Steve can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the dull throb of his headache still eating away at his concentration. But he only has four more hours of work and then he can deal with everything tonight.

Fuck, what is he going to tell Bucky?

He thinks and thinks and thinks and comes up blank. Steve wrestles for any kind of excuse for the entire rest of his shift and it’s still buzzing in the back of his mind when Bucky locks the front door and turns on him, hands on his hips. “Okay, Rogers, what the hell’s going on with you?” he asks, worry laced deep into his face. “Your headaches springing up again? You worried about next semester coming up?”

Steve shrugs and pulls the cash drawer out. “It’s nothing, Buck. I swear.”

“The doctor figure out what’s going on with you?”

His hands fumble with the stack of twenties and Steve clenches his jaw to keep it from trembling. “Yeah,” he mumbles through gritted teeth. “Yeah, they—” His voice cracks and his stomach aches. He sucks a shaking breath though his nose and fights the urge to vomit. His vision goes fuzzy around the edges and suddenly Bucky’s grabbing him and forcing him into a chair. Steve shakes with frustration and exhaustion as he snaps, “Get off me, I’m fine.”

“You’re as white as a sheet, man,” Bucky says, pushing his hair out of his face. “Seriously, Steve, you’re scaring me.”

“Stop fucking treating me like I’m gonna break just because I’ve been sick!”

“Then tell me what’s going on!” the brunet shouts. Guilt bubbles up his throat and Steve has never seen Bucky look so panicked. “ _Please_ , just tell me what the doctors said!”

Steve throws the rubber-banded cash onto the ground and swings his hands out in a wide gesture. “I’ve got fucking cancer, okay?” Bucky’s mouth falls open but his friend makes no sound. “I’ve got a big ol’ tumor inside my brain and there’s nothing the doctors can do about it. Happy now?” Steve asks. He should be crying, right? Should feel some emotion other than annoyance. “Y’know, I figured my shitty lungs or my bum heart was gonna be the way I go out. Didn’t think it was going to be the one thing in my body that actually worked that did me in.”

Bucky shakes his head, eyes glassy and rimmed in red. “M-Maybe—Maybe they got your tests m-mixed up…” he chokes weakly.

“No, they’re right, I’m just _real_ special,” Steve says snidely. “Stage 4 Glioblastoma. 5.6 by 6.7 centimeters big. Doctor wasn’t even sure how I was still functioning. I’m a goddamn medical _miracle_.”

The shop is so quiet that all Steve can hear is their heavy breathing. There’s a single question hanging between the two of them that feels so heavy that he can feel the weight on both their shoulders. Bucky slumps back against the counter as the first tear slips past his eyelashes. “How…” He scrubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. “How long do you have?”

“Seventeen weeks without treatment, at the most,” Steve whispers, scaring even himself with how calm he sounds. “Thirty-two if I go through radiation.” Bucky’s cheeks flush and the rest of his skin goes pale. “Buck, hey, are you okay?”

The taller boy shakes his head and swallows back a sob. “No,” he says thickly. “No, fuck this. Fuck this Steve. Fuck, I can’t—” Bucky reaches down and grabs the wad of cash and throws it at the cash drawer. “Come on, we’re going out for a fucking drink. Jacobson can fucking deal with this shit in the morning.”

“Buck, we gotta—we’ll get fired if we—”

“Then we’ll get fired, holy _shit_ Steve, it doesn’t matter!” Bucky shouts, spinning on him, cheeks wet with tears. “You just told me you have thirty-two weeks to live and you’re worried about your fucking job?!”

“I’m not—”

Bucky disappears to the back office and comes back full of unsteady rage at the world. How can he feel all of these things—anger, grief, sadness, fury—when Steve feels absolutely nothing. “Come on, we can go to that little dive bar over by our apartment. I know they don’t ID and then you can—”

“Bucky, stop!” he says, cutting the other boy off mid-ramble. Bucky blinks and freezes as Steve climbs down from the chair. They’re close, suddenly too close for his liking but he can’t bear to move away from his friend. Not now. Steve swallows the lump in his throat and looks up at Bucky. “It’s not going to be thirty-two weeks, Buck. I’m not going to do treatment.”

The world screeches to a frightening halt.

“You _what_?” Bucky whispers, breathless and horrified.

“I’m not doing radiation,” he repeats. “Do you know how much radiation costs? I’m a fucking college student; I have no money, no family, and I make $3.75 an hour. How is spending a couple thousand dollars that I don’t have worth getting four more extra months to just spend being sick?”

Bucky is still staring at him like Steve grew an extra head or is missing a couple limbs. The older boy clenches his fists and grits his teeth. “You don’t think other people are gonna want four more months with you?” he snaps, spitting venom with every syllable. “You don’t think I would kill for just a little more time to spend with you? Fuck off, Steve.” His footsteps echo through the silent store as Bucky storms off out the back, slamming the door on his way out.

Steve sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. Fuck.

~~~

It’s late when he makes it back to the apartment, only to find it empty—Bucky gone and no note. Steve grabs his jean jacket and throws it on before heading down the block towards the bar. His headache and nausea have subsided and he’s so goddamn exhausted from the day, but he knows he has to patch things up with Bucky before he can sleep.

There’s a George Michael song playing on the radio as he walks in and Steve can instantly spot his friend at table in the corner. Bucky’s bent over a pint glass, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. He doesn’t look up as Steve sits silently across from him, just wipes his face with his palms and croaks, “I don’t want you to die, Stevie…”

“I know,” Steve says, reaching across the table and carefully taking Bucky’s hand. “I know and I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t happening, trust me.”

Bucky shudders through a sob and a silent tear drops from the tip of his nose down to the table. “What am I g-gonna do without you?” He finally raises his head and his face is splotchy and red. “You’re the best thing in my life…” he slurs.

“Nothing we can do now, Buck,” Steve says as he takes the glass out of Bucky’s hand. “Come on, lets get you back home. I think you’ve had enough.”

Bucky slumps across his shoulder as he all but drags the older boy back down the street. “‘m sorry, Stevie,” he mumbles, voice on the edge of a sob. “I jus—” Bucky whimpers, low and broken and drunk, and Steve just wants to get him into the apartment and put him to bed so he can stop being reminded that all of this is real. He’s got cancer. He’s got a goddamn tumor in his brain. He’s going to die, sooner than either of them ever thought.

And Bucky was going to have to bury him.

God, what he wouldn’t give to change everything.

The taller boy’s eyes are half lidded as Steve rolls him into the single bed, tugging Bucky’s worn boots off his feet. Bucky stares at the ceiling, chin wobbling as he sucks in an unsteady breath. “What are you gonna miss th’most?” he whispers, reaching out a trembling hand for Steve.

_Other than you?_ Steve thinks, his stomach clenching.

He kicks his own shoes off and sits on the edge of the bed, unable to look at Bucky. If he does, all of his strength will leave his body and he’ll be lost. So instead, Steve shrugs, looks at the flickering light on the ceiling of their shitty studio loft. “Gonna miss _this_ , I guess,” he mumbles. “Gonna miss not getting to see everything I wanted to. Money was always tight and Mom did her best, but I’ve never been out of New York City.”

“Stevie?” He glances over his shoulder, only to find Bucky staring at him like he’s trying not to forget what Steve’s face looks like. “Don’t go. Not till the end, okay?” Bucky’s hand wraps around his thin bicep, pulling him down next to him. Steve closes his eyes and presses his face into the older boy’s too-warm neck. “Promise y’won’t leave me.”

Bucky’s heavy hand strokes through the golden hair at the crown of his head and salty tears begin to bite at Steve’s eyes. “I promise, Buck.”

Exhaustion soaks into every cell of his body, through every bone and drop of blood. Steve’s eyelids hang heavy as they finally slip shut. He dreams of swimming in the Atlantic Ocean, dreams of Bucky’s grin as he rises from the waves, reaching out to him. He dreams of places he’s heard about but will never go. He dreams of a life he’ll never live.

It’s the worst sleep he has since the headaches first started.

~~~

It’s early in the afternoon when Steve finally lurches back into consciousness. Bucky isn’t beside him; there’s no warmth to keep him company. His body feels stiff, muscles pulling at his joints as Steve sits up in bed. The dresser drawers they share have been pulled open and emptied and the suitcases that usually perched on top of the bookcase have disappeared.

The room spins and Steve’s hands shake as he grips the edge of the bed.

Bucky had just left him.

His legs feel weak as he stands, looking around their small apartment. It had been their home for the last two years, since his Mom had passed, cramped and drafty in the winters and unbearably hot in the summers, but still, it was home. Steve half expects a note. Anything that would explain Bucky just up and leaving him, but then again, he did drop the news of having an inoperable brain tumor and the decision of foregoing treatment in a span of 5 minutes.

Maybe after all that, he deserves to die alone.

Steve fumbles in the bathroom for the half a dozen pills the doctor sent him home and forces some toast into his stomach to try and combat the rising nausea. It’s almost a constant at this point, even with the meds he’s been given. He hadn’t really thought much of it, what with the ulcers he routinely got, until the headaches had started and Bucky made him book a doctor’s appointment.

And now it was too late. Now it was just a waiting game for his motor function to decline, for his seizures to get stronger, for his organs to start giving out. Now all he had to do was wait to die.

The fatigue gets to him quickly and he find himself fast asleep on the lumpy couch before it’s even 3pm.

“Steve? Steve, buddy, wake up.”

Steve jerks awake, grabbing at Bucky’s hands on his face. “Wha—What’re you—” he gasps, gaze coming back into focus. “You…you left.”

The older boy’s face falls and his hands tighten on either side of Steve’s jaw. “God, no, Steve, why would you even think that?” Bucky says, brow furrowing. “I’m not ever leaving you, especially not now. How could you—”

“You were gone when I woke up,” Steve says, still trying to fight the clutches of sleep. His nausea is back and his voice is shaking for reasons he doesn’t understand. “I thought—”

The room spins as Bucky pulls him up into a tight, crushing hug. It’s that warm familiar scent of sweat and Calvin Klein cologne that instantly melts all of Steve’s worries away, even when he’s too stubborn to let them go. “I’m sorry, I was gonna tell you but you were so out of it that I didn’t want to wake you,” he murmurs, stroking the ends of Steve’s hair. “I’m sorry, I should’ve left a note but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Steve pulls out of his grip. “Surprise?”

Outside, he puts his hands on his hips

“You can’t be serious, Buck.”

The car is a piece of shit. Steve can’t even believe it’s all in once piece. It’s gotta be almost twenty years old, an old 1960’s Ambassador, covered in rust with the hood strapped to the fender to keep it shut. But Bucky is standing in front of it like it’s the best thing in the entire world.

“You _can’t_ be _serious_ ,” Steve repeats again, shoulders sagging in defeat as Bucky’s grin widens. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“This is the best idea I’ve ever had, Steve. Think about it, what else are we gonna do with the time you’ve got left? Sit around in Brooklyn?” the older boy says, stepping closer to him. Steve looks up at him, sighing softly. There’s a glorious hopefulness in Bucky’s eyes that he can’t tear his gaze away from, even when Bucky steps closer, their chests almost touching. “I remembered what you told me last night. That you’ve never been outside the city. I need you to do this with me, Steve. It’s the last chance we’ll get.”

“You’ve got school starting back up in a month,” he says desperately, picking at the skin around his nails anxiously. “You can’t just fuck off for two months and—”

“I’m not going back to school.”

And just like that, another ball drops. Steve blinks and shakes his head. “No, you’re not dropping out.”

Bucky motions to the car again. “How the hell did you think I got the money for this, Steve? I pulled all four thousand from my college fund to buy this car and pay for the trip,” he says.

“You have to go back!” he shouts, shoving Bucky hard in the chest. “You can’t throw away your entire future just because I’m sick. Don’t be so fucking stupid!” Steve’s mind is racing and he hits Bucky again. “You’re fucking going back to school!”

“There’s no point to going back after you—” Bucky’s voice fails him and Steve’s heart sinks straight into his stomach. The first tears slip down Bucky’s face and he scrubs the heel of his hand roughly over his eyes. Steve reaches out and wraps his hand around Bucky’s wrist, stilling the frantic movement. The brunet closes his eyes and shudders through a trembling breath. “Please just tell me you’ll do this with me. Please.”

Steve sighs and asks, “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

~~~

They don’t talk about it the rest of the night. Part of Steve thinks it’s all some big dream. The last twenty four hours can’t have happened. But then he looks over at the spread map in the middle of the floor with every stop plotted out and knows it’s real.

Four months, Bucky said. That’s how long this road trip was supposed to take. Two months to get out to California and two months to get back home, just in time to die in Brooklyn. Steve knows he should feel lucky—not everyone gets that certainty of when—but the news is beginning to catch up with him. The fact that his time is running out one day at a time faster than he ever thought it would.

He watches Bucky strip down to his underwear, skin glistening in the summer heat as he tosses the couch cushions in a pile on the floor. The sofa bed legs creak as the older boy pulls them free and Steve’s heart thuds in his chest. He scrubs his hands over his bare legs and mumbles, “You can sleep with me again tonight, if you want.”

Bucky’s head turns to him but he doesn’t say anything, like he hadn’t quite heard what he said. But maybe he hadn’t said anything at all.

“I know how much it messes up your back,” Steve spits, staring down at his lap. “I’ve got enough space in my bed.” The pull out bed squeaks again as Bucky returns it to its original position. “Buck?”

“Are you actually worried about me or are you just lonely?” He looks up at Bucky and watches the brunet cross his arms over his chest. Steve sets his jaw and stares him down petulantly, refusing to answer the question out of sheer pride. But Bucky makes no move to sit down next to him—only says, “You better answer me, Stevie or I’m gonna go get the pull-out back open. Do you want me to sleep next to you? Will it help?”

Steve huffs out a short breath and digs his fingers into his thighs. He bounces his legs anxiously and feels his shoulders sag. “Please don’t make me ask you. Not now.”

It’s something familiar—the two of them in bed together. They’ve been friends since they were babies, have done everything together since before Steve has memories, and they’ve never been far apart. They curled up together during sleepovers and whenever they were sick. Bucky had spent most of last winter curled around him at night when their heat busted and their super couldn’t be bothered to fix it. But now all Steve wanted was someone next to him to hold him and pretend like everything was okay.

Bucky sighs and gives in, padding over quietly. The mattress dips under his weight as he sits next to Steve and nudges their shoulders together. “You know, you can be one stubborn asshole when you want to be.”

Steve forces a weak smile and jokes, “Gimme a pass because I’m dyin’?”

A shaky breath falls out of the other boy’s mouth and Bucky nods, pulling Steve into his chest. “Yeah, just this once, okay?” he mumbles into Steve’s hair. “But don’t get used to it.”

They stay up late watching Top Gun and he spends the entire movie tucked into the warm space underneath Bucky’s arm. Sirens wail outside and Steve stifles a yawn, feeling the medicine beginning to kick in. It’s hot and sweat drips down the center of his crooked spine but he’s never felt more safe in his entire life.

There’s some deep, nagging thought that seeps deep into his bones, filling up the hollow spaces he’s carried around, but Steve is too much of a coward to put it to words. If he does, he’s doomed. If he does, it’ll all become real.

“You should get some sleep, Steve,” Bucky whispers against the crown of his head, low and soft and gentle like it’s a secret. “It’s been a long day.” Fingers comb through his hair, brush over the top of his ear. “Sleep—I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.” The tide begins to turn in the battle to keep his eyes open and Steve settles down on the pillow, letting sleep take its hold on him.

Bucky’s hand rests warm and heavy on the side of his neck the entire night.

* * *


	2. We’ve Got Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve begin their road trip and the reality of Steve’s illness finally catches up with them.

* * *

“I can drive too, y’know,” Steve huffs angrily, crossing his arms over his chest as he slouches in the passenger’s seat. Bucky checks the rear view mirror, not like he can see anything anyway—the backseat is piled high with suitcases and backpacks and coolers and who knows what the fuck else—and shoots him a look. “I _can_! We did driver’s school together, asshole.”

“Yeah and if you get another headache, you still gonna be able to drive?” the older boy asks as they pull out from the curb. “You know how bad they are now and who knows if they’re going to get worse. You brought all your medicine, right?”

“Yes, _mom_ ,” he sneers, shaking the black bag that all of his pill bottles are stored in. “Happy?”

“Fuckin’ hell, you got enough pills there to open up a pharmacy. Jesus Christ.”

“It’s sacrilegious to take the Lord’s name in vain.”

Bucky’s mouth turns up into a smirk as he heads toward the BQE. “I’m pretty sure it’s only sacrilegious if you’re Catholic,” he says, laying on the gas as they get into the on-ramp. “Besides, he’s _your_ Lord, not mine.”

They head north on the highway for half an hour before Steve even thinks to ask where they’re headed.

“Boston.”

“Boston? Really, Buck? What the hell are we gonna do in _Boston_?” he asks, pissy about the entire thing at this point. The more Steve thinks about it, the less enthusiastic he is about this road trip. It’s hot and the air is busted. The window cranks work but he can only get the windows down halfway. Fuck this car and fuck Bucky for even suggesting a full cross country trip in it.

“I don’t know, you like all that history shit,” Bucky says with a shrug. “Figured there would be a couple cool museums we could go to. Maybe catch a baseball game or something.” His cheeks are pink from the heat and Steve can see sweat gathering at his temples already. “Stop acting like you don’t wanna go.”

“Who said I wanted to go?” Steve snaps, fighting just to fight. “It was your idea, not mine.”

“Yeah? Maybe I oughta just pull over and drop your lousy ass on the side of the highway. Have all the fun without you. You can walk back home to Brooklyn and wait for me to come back.”

“I’ll be dead before you get around to remembering I’m sitting back at home so maybe that’s not a bad option.” The car goes silent and Steve immediately regrets his words. But he’s too stubborn, too proud to admit defeat, even when he sees Bucky’s fingers clench around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white to keep his hands from shaking. His stomach flips and, for the first time in weeks, it’s not from his nausea. After almost twenty minutes, Steve whispers, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” Bucky mutters, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you. I know how hard it is for me and I’m not the one whose doctor told him he’s got an expiration date.”

Steve looks out the window and across the shining Atlantic. The waves crash and he can smell the salt and seaweed hanging heavy in the air. “Will you make sure I’m buried next to my mom and dad?” he asks quietly. “I ain’t got any other family around to see that it happens. And, if something goes wrong on the trip, please make sure my body makes it back home.”

The older boy nods quickly, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes. “Yeah, of course I will. I’m gonna get you out to California, gonna get you to the coast, and I promise I’m gonna get you back home too,” he croaks. “I’ll get you a good plot right next to your mom and whatever kind of headstone you want.”

Steve offers him a small smile and knocks their knees together. “I promise to stick around long enough to pick one out.”

~~~

Boston is better than Steve ever thought it’d be. They do end up seeing the Red Sox play the Orioles and Bucky shells out for seats close enough that Steve can see everything on the field, even with his shitty eyesight.

They do the entire tour of Old Boston, from Old North Church to Beacon Hill. Bucky takes him out on a fishing boat and they catch enough crabs and halibut to make them each sick, even if Steve ends up stuck with all the shellfish. They stay at a small bed and breakfast on the coast and spend an entire day on the cool beach.

“Stevie, look what I found!” Bucky crows from the tidal pools, shorts hiked up and shirt discarded somewhere on the sand. He holds something up with two hands but Steve’s too far away to what it is. “It’s a fucking starfish! How cool is this?”

“You ain’t ever seen a starfish before?” he calls with a grin.

“Not outside an aquarium!” Bucky flips it over and beams up the beach at him. “It’s got a little mouth at the bottom; how cool is that??”

“Buck, I’m pretty sure that ‘mouth’ is its ass.”

“You and this starfish sure got a lot in common then, don’t you, Rogers!” Steve grabs a nearby shell and chucks it at his best friend, falling a few yards short and eliciting more laughs from Bucky. “You throw like a fucking fish too!”

He wants to grin, wants to laugh it off, but he’s too distracted by the way Bucky’s skin glows almost bronze in the sunlight. Steve’s, on the other hand, in its pale Irish complexion, has turned a deep rosy red, on his way to an eventual sunburn. Bucky’s everything he’s not—tall, athletic, handsome, irresistible—and sometimes it hurts how much Steve wants him. Wants him like the water wants to meet the sea, the way the sun chases the moon, the way his lungs scream for air whenever he holds his breath.

It’s a secret he’ll take to his grave, if he’s lucky enough.

Bucky’s going to have to bury him, there’s nothing worth leaving something like that behind.

The older boy smells like salt and ocean scum and sweat as he comes back up the beach and plops down in the sand next to Steve. His head lolls over on his tan shoulder and his face breaks into a wide, beaming grin. “You ready to head out tomorrow morning?” They’ve been in Boston for the three days now and the rest of the country was waiting for them. Bucky grabs for the water between them and Steve watches the long line of his throat as he chugs half the bottle. “We’re going upstate.”

“Upstate Massachusetts?” he asks. “What the shit is in upstate Massachusetts?”

Steve flinches a little as Bucky cuffs him across the back of his head. “Upstate New York, you fucking dweeb,” Bucky says. “We’re going to Niagara Falls.”

“Smack me again and I’m gonna throw you off the overlook.”

Steve’s heart skips a beat when Bucky leans in close and throws him a deadly smirk. “Oh yeah, Rogers? You really think you can lift me like that?” He swallows his beating heart back down his thick throat as he nods up at the brunet. Bucky’s voice is slippery smooth, like velvet or silk that Steve can’t quite get a grip on, as he whispers, “Try it.”

Quick of a flash, Steve shoves him flat on his back, trying to wrestle Bucky back enough to pin him. They grapple for a moment and he almost sees a way to winning, that one perfect jab to the side that will render the older boy incapacitated, but suddenly Bucky flips them both. Steve lands prone with a small huff, all the air in his lungs rushing out as hands wrap around his wrists. Bucky pins his arms above his head and straddles his thin waist, declaring victory with a bawdy crow. Steve struggles underneath him, demanding, “Get off me, you fucking dick.”

Bucky eventually releases him, shoving a sandy hand in his face. “Toss me off the overlook now, why don’t you,” he cackles, fumbling for the water again.

Steve’s face goes pink and he chalks it up to the sunburn and nothing else.

“Hey Rogers, catch!”

A shutter goes off right as the water bottle lands in his hands and Steve blinks his wide eyes as Bucky lowers the camera, pulling the Polaroid from the slot. He shakes it for a few seconds, inspecting the picture before grinning. Steve reaches for the picture but Bucky slaps his hand away. “Gimme it, Buck!” he whines. “I wanna see!”

“Nope, these are all gonna be mine,” Bucky murmurs, his smile softening around the edges. His voice sounds thick, almost too fond, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. The picture gets tucked into the back pocket of Bucky’s shorts as he says, “I’m keeping memories from this trip whether you like it or not, you hear me?”

There’s no fight in his voice this time as Steve nods and whispers, “Of course. Anything.”

They settle beside each other, knees almost touching, as the sea recedes back into the ocean and the sun meets the horizon in the smoky darkness.

~~~

The pictures continue, one after the other in rapid-fire succession.

Bucky takes them at the Niagara Falls overlook, both of them soaking wet from the spray and one arm draped over Steve’s neck. Steve slips on the step and earns a scraped knee and elbow for his troubles, but the view is worth it all the same.

They take more pictures at the Erie Canal and more in Pittsburgh and Philadelphia a week later. Pictures of Steve in front of historical sights and shoveling food into his mouth when the nausea allows him to eat and visiting every art museum they can get their hands on. Pictures in shitty hotel rooms and parked in rest stops. Moments of life that Bucky squirrels away for darker times when the unthinkable happens.

They don’t talk about the cancer, not even once.

~~~

Their good luck runs out when they start driving through the mountains.

Steve’s not sure if it’s the altitude or the winding roads or the endless trees in the Appalachian mountains, but every thirty seconds or so, he ends up swallowing a mouthful of bile. He hasn’t eaten all morning—having woken up with the worst migraine he’s had in weeks, one that his meds are doing nothing to dull—and just the thought of food makes his stomach turn again.

“Y’okay?” Bucky asks quietly as Steve lets out a low groan. He shakes his head and a warm hand brushes across his sweaty forehead. “Fucking hell, Steve. You’re burning up; we gotta pull over.”

“Supposed to get to Virginia Beach by tonight,” Steve croaks, burying his face in the crook of his elbow and slouching against the window. “Can’t stop.”

“We’ve got two whole months to do this trip, buddy. Stopping up in the mountains because you’re sick isn’t gonna set us back.”

“Ain’t sick, just dyin’…” he chuckles darkly before coughing weakly, stomach acid burning the back of his throat. He hears Bucky sigh and pulls his feet up against the dashboard, desperately trying to ignore the ache in the back of his neck and his stomach. “Sorry,” Steve mumbles and blinks back the blinding beam of sunset as he looks at the older boy. “Shouldn’t have said something like that. If we have to get a room, can we just do it quick? Don’t feel so hot.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Bucky says as he pulls off the winding stretch of highway onto a smaller road. “There oughta be a hotel somewhere around here, or at least somewhere with a couple of beds.”

It’s another hour and a half of driving before they find the closest town to stop in—a small little Main Street with no stoplights and nothing open that they can find except a dingy bar. There’s a Dolly Parton song playing on the jukebox and the four or so men at the bar turn and give them raised eyebrows at Steve’s shaky state. The woman behind the counter sets her cigarette down and shoots them a smile. “Hey boys,” she says, her drawling accent thick and warm. “What can I get for y’all?”

Steve blinks dizzily, lights crossing and doubling as Bucky throws an arm around his shoulder and says, “We just got into town and are looking for a room somewhere. Y’know if there’s anywhere that’s got a vacancy?”

The woman shakes her head and picks her smoke back up. “You boys are outta luck. Closest motel’s a good half hour south’a here and they’re gonna be all booked up by now. But if y’all are interested, I got a room upstairs,” she says, smoke billowing out her nose. “Usually save it for ol’ Jake over here when he’s too drunk to make it home.” She motions to the old man sitting at the end of the bar. “It’s not much but it’ll make due if you let it.”

Steve’s hands shake and everything just feels off. He wants to lie down, wants to sleep for a thousand years, is so exhausted, even though the most exercise he’s done today is walk around the overlooks they’ve stopped at. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, looking up at Bucky. “Anything’s fine, I just gotta lay down.”

Bucky fishes his wallet out of his back pocket and asks, “How much?”

The room is $10 for the night and it looks it. It’s a 5x8 foot box with a single chair, a twin bed and nothing else. It stinks like cigarette smoke and Steve’s lungs tighten within the first couple breaths. He digs his inhaler out of his backpack and shoves it in his mouth, puffing on it with a low wheeze. “This place sucks ass.”

“Well if you’ve got any better ideas, I’d love to hear ‘em,” Bucky shoots back, rolling his sleeping bag out on the dusty floor.

“Bite me.” His voice is too weak for there to be any serious venom in it and the older boy actually looks worried. Suddenly, his ears start ringing and the light in the room is far too bright. “Buck?” Steve slurs, the backpack falling from his hand. “Everythin’s—”

The world goes black and Steve hits the ground with a crack.

When the lights comes back, Bucky’s crouched over him, head cradled in careful hands. His muscles ache and his nausea is even worse than it was before. His mind feels like cotton, words jumbling together into endless white noise. It takes a few minutes before any coherent thought comes to him and then the overwhelming shame hits. His pants are wet and Steve flushes deep crimson, croaking, “Wha’ happened?”

Bucky shakes his head, helping him sit up. “I don’t know, you just went stiff and your eyes rolled back. You went down and started shaking,” he says. “Then you…you pissed yourself. Took you a minute or so to wake back up.” Bucky’s face is white as a sheet and he refuses to meet Steve’s eyes. “It was real fucking scary, Steve. I’ve never seen anyone do something like that. Is it because of the tumor?”

Steve hinges his jaw and tastes blood where he bit the inside of his cheek. His heart is beating fast and hard in his chest, more out of embarrassment than anything, but he finally nods. “My oncologist said I might get seizures because of it. My meds are supposed to keep me from having them but he said they might happen anyway.” He looks down at his pants and the wet sleeping bag beneath him and his chin quivers, tears burning his eyes. “Fuck, your bed…I’m s-sorry…”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” Bucky reassures him. “Just get changed and I’ll deal with all this. We’ll go to the laundromat in the morning. And hey, I still got my pillow; I can make due.”

The first tear falls and Steve sniffs weakly before nodding.

He’s not sure what’d he do without Bucky, he thinks as he changes clothes, the older boy sitting just outside the door. It wasn’t fucking fair and neither of them had asked for this to happen, but Bucky was going beyond the care taking he usually did when Steve came down with his annual bouts of pneumonia. They were supposed to be best friends.

Best friends shouldn’t have to do stuff like this.

There’s a garbage bag in Bucky’s hand when Steve finally allows him into the room again. The older boy immediately begins bagging everything up without even blinking an eye while all Steve can do is sit on the edge of the bed, hands gripped around his knees. A shudder rolls through his body and he swallows back a sob. Bucky looks up, eyes worried, and ties the bag. “Steve, it’s fine, really. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“You shouldn’t have to see me like this. It’s only been two weeks. What am I gonna be like by the end of our trip?” Steve sniffs, voice shaking.

“I’ll deal with whatever comes, then. But nothing’s gonna get rid of me and I hope you know that.” The garbage back rustles as Bucky ties the top and tosses it in the furthest corner. “Even if it gets worse.”

The room goes so silent that Steve can hear the country music faintly playing through the floorboards. His throat feels dry and tight and he wishes he had his inhaler again. He looks up at the flickering light on the ceiling and scrubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Will you—are you gonna be there with me? When I—” His face crumples like crepe paper and a terrible sob claw its way up his throat like a wounded animal. “W-When I d-die?”

The bed squeaks and strong, warm arms wrap around his shaking body. “Nothing means nothing,” Bucky reassures him, mouth pressed to the crown of his head. “I’m gonna be by your side til the very end.”

He doesn’t cry. He won’t cry. Steve doesn’t allow himself to cry because that mean his cancer will have won. It’ll have taken hold of his life, this trip, of what he and Bucky have, and Steve won’t fucking allow it. So he clenches his hands into fists and breathes hard and deep through his nose, willing the biting tears back into his tumor-riddled head. After a minute, he shoves Bucky away and crawls to the head of the bed. “I’m fucking fine. You don’t need to treat me like a baby.”

The brunet sighs and bites his tongue, deciding whatever sharp comeback he has can wait. “Okay, Stevie, whatever you say.”

He grabs his pillow off the chair and tosses it on the floor, toeing his sneakers off. Steve frowns and crosses his arms. “You’re really gonna sleep on the floor. Just like that?” he mumbles through a clenched jaw.

Bucky rolls his eyes and give him an unamused look. “Y’know, I could make some mean joke about you pissing your pants but I’m a fucking nice person and I’m not gonna; so yeah, I am gonna sleep right here with my fucking pillow unless you got a better idea.”

“You should take the bed. It’s my fault.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, not after you just had a goddamn seizure!”

“ _Fine_!” Steve shouts as his headache begins to worm its way back into the base of his skull. “Do what you fucking want!” He throws himself down on the bed and tucks his face into the nicotine-stained wall. His hands shake as Steve clenches them into fists and shoves them in his armpits, rage burning through him like an uncontrollable fire.

He can hear Bucky sigh quietly and the light clicks off, shrouding them in darkness. Then, a quiet, “Night, Steve.”

~~~

He wakes up with Bucky’s chest pressed tight against his back, the older boy’s muscular limbs wrapped around his chest. Bucky is snoring heavy and deep and his breath is sticky-warm against Steve’s cheek. The scent of sweat and Calvin Klein cologne seeps into Steve’s pores and it fills his lungs in ways that makes his heart stop dead in its tracks.

His fingers curl around Bucky’s wrists and palms—holds him tight like he’ll never be able to once the sun comes up.

Steve draws a shuddering breath and, this time, cannot stop the tears that come.

* * *


	3. Heart and Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys splurge on a trip to Disney World and later, in Miami, some painful secrets are revealed.

* * *

They pretend like it didn’t happen.

They pretend like it didn’t happen, but they start sleeping in the same bed at every hotel from the mountains to Savannah. From Virginia Beach, where they spend endless hours splashing in the ocean; to the outer North Carolinian islands where Steve watches Bucky go breathless, seeing wild horses for the first time; and even to Charleston where Steve eats shrimp and grits until he gets sick, Bucky shoveling hush puppy after hush puppy into his mouth between bites of fried chicken.

They spend every night like they used to when they were kids, limbs twisted together with the curtains pulled tight over watchful window eyes. It was easier then, back when they didn’t realize that things like this were wrong. Back before Steve realized what he was, what his disgusting, unnatural urges really meant. Back when life was innocent.

They wake up before dawn and drive down the coast until Steve sees the signs at the Florida border. “What’s our next stop?” he asks, grabbing for the bag of pretzels in the back seat.

Bucky doesn’t answer him, only smirks.

He groans, “Ugh, seriously Buck, you’re not gonna tell me? You’re such a dick!”

“It’s only a four hour drive til where we’re going, so quit your yapping,” Bucky says, fumbling for his soda. “Take a fucking nap if you’re gonna bitch about it the entire time.”

“Fine, wake me up when we’re fucking there,” Steve snaps as he clambers into the backseat, making sure to kick Bucky in the back of the head while he does so. He shoves the backpacks onto the floor and grabs his pillow, flopping onto the bench seat with a grumble.

He’s out before he can even realize it.

“Wake up, Steve,” a voice says before a slap connects with his leg. He jerks upright to see Bucky’s shit-eating grin before realizing what the sign above them reads.

_Walt Disney World_

“No FUCKING way!” Steve shouts, scrambling back into the front seat. “We’re at fucking _Disney World?!!_ ” His face splits in a wide grin and he can’t stop the laugh that bubbles from his throat. “God, I could fucking _kiss_ you.”

Bucky flushes pink around the ears and smirks. “I swear, you’re secretly five years old.”

“We’re at fucking Disney World!” he laughs, grabbing Bucky’s t-shirt sleeve and shaking him. The car swerves a little on the road and Steve topples over against the dash, taking the opportunity to stare up at the approaching park. He can see the far-away castle behind the entrance and the faint scream of people on rollercoasters.

They find a parking spot close to the monorail station and Bucky—ever the mother hen—badgers him about medication. “You got everything you need? We’re gonna be here all day.”

Steve shakes his fanny pack at him, pills rattling inside their bottles, and resists the urge to smack the older boy upside the head. “Yeah, I got ‘em, okay? I just gotta take a couple before dinner tonight, now can we goooo already?” he whines, bouncing in his seat and rattling the door handle. “I wanna ride the roller coasters now!”

“You act like you’ve never been on one before,” Bucky laughs, passing over the sunscreen. “If I remember correctly from the last time we went to Coney Island, you screamed the entire time and then puked after I made you ride the Cyclone.”

“I was eleven the last time we went to Coney, you ass,” Steve says, slathering his arms in white lotion. “I’m not gonna barf.”

“If you say so. But you better help those poor park employees clean up when you do.”

Steve feels like he’s vibrating straight out of his skin. Feels like he’s five years old again and nothing else matters. His face hurts from grinning so much and he barely notices Bucky taking picture after picture. They go on the Pirates of the Caribbean boat ride, visit the magic shop and Liberty Square, and cram in line with half a dozen eight year olds to ride the spinning tea cups.

He comes off the ride more than a little nauseous, but damn if he’s gonna let Bucky know. Steve graciously accepts the lemonade and corn dog the older boy passes him though, shoving half of it into his mouth before he can remember how sick he feels. “Slow down, Rogers, that corn dog isn’t going anywhere.”

“Fuck off, Buck and eat your pretzel before I shove it in your big fat mouth,” he says around a mouthful of breading. He grabs at one of Bucky’s fries, only to get his hand slapped away. Steve makes a disgruntled noise and kicks at the other boy’s shins under the table with a grin. Bucky kicks him back but ends up chucking a fry his way anyway, much to Steve’s delight. “Hah!” he crows, shoving it in his mouth before Bucky changes his mind and takes it back.

But Bucky doesn’t. Just holds back the overly fond look in his eyes and smiles. “You win, Stevie.”

They spend the rest of the day riding Space Mountain more times than Steve can count and he finally claims victory when Bucky’s the one that throws up after ride #5. “So what was that about me barfing?” Steve snarks as he leans against the trash can the brunet’s hunched over. Bucky flips him off, head still stuffed into the dark, and groans weakly. “There are kids around, y’know!” Steve teases.

The day goes a little slower after that. They linger in shops and tuck in close on the Jungle Cruise. They go on the Mission to Mars ride and Steve can barely take his eyes off Bucky when the older boy marvels at the planets and galaxies. Their hands brush against each other when Bucky leans in close and points out every celestial body he knows, and every time it happens, Steve’s heart beats a little higher, a little harder, in his throat.

It’s overwhelming— _unbearable_ even, at times—how much Steve loves him.

The sky gets dark and Bucky tugs on Steve’s elbow insistently, muttering, “Come on! It’s gonna start soon!” They push their way through the crowd in front of the Cinderella Castle and Bucky crouches down a little. “Come on, get up on my back, Steve. You’ll get a better view.”

“I’m not ten years old anymore, Buck,” he says, wrapping his arms around the taller boy’s shoulders. “I weigh more than I did when we used to do this.”

“Yeah, a whole ten pounds more, if you’re lucky. You weigh eighty pounds soaking wet, so get the fuck up here.”

Bucky’s hands are warm and steady under his thighs and he holds Steve like it’s nothing. All those years of hauling books around the shop have really paid off, he thinks. Steve hooks his chin over the brunet’s shoulder, relaxing into the warmth of his body.

The first fireworks go off with a boom, making them both jump a little. Steve’s grin spreads as the crowd around them oohs and ahhs, face flushing as Bucky grips him tighter. The pyrotechnics light up the sky in blues and reds and golds, flashing above them in starbursts and rings. Steve tucks his face in close and whispers, “This is the best day of my life, Buck. Thank you.”

The other boy turns his head—their faces so close they’re almost touching—and there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his face. His eyes are blown black and Steve can see the fireworks reflecting in the darkness.

“Anything for you, Steve.”

~~~

Miami is hot.

Miami is loud and vibrant and full of music and spicy food and men that Steve can barely take his eyes off of and _hot_. His heart beats hard and fast as they walk along the beach and watch men laugh together, hold hands together, and live lives that Steve has only ever dreamed about. It’s a parade of too-small swimsuits and tan bodies and abs. A few give him bright smiles and raised eyebrows and Steve does his best to fight the flush in his face.

“So the girl at the front desk of the hotel invited us out to a club tonight,” Bucky says as they buy popsicles. “Her name’s Clarissa. I think she’s got a crush on me.”

Steve laughs, strawberry dripping down his fingers. He sucks off the sweet liquid before it hits his wrists and shoves his hair out of his face with his forearm. “You think everybody has a crush on you, Buck.”

“That’s ‘cause they usually do,” Bucky grins. “Not my fault I’m so handsome. Blame my Mama.”

“If you looked half as pretty as your mama, even _I_ might have a crush on you.”

The older boy lets out a crowing laugh and throws an arm over Steve’s shoulders. “I _knew_ you were into my mama, Stevie. If we make it back to Brooklyn in once piece, I’ll make sure to tell her. She always said you were her favorite.”

Steve shoves him away, leaving sticky fingerprints on Bucky’s side. “Yeah, you take Clarissa out and I’ll show your mama a good time.”

“If the club is as good as Clarissa says, we’ll have no shortage of dates for you.”

Unfortunately for him, Clarissa brings a date. Her name is Amy and she’s too bubbly, too flirty, too uninterested to hang around him long. She ditches Steve the first chance she gets and he spends the rest of the time downing drink after drink that Bucky seems to be acquiring. The night drags on and he finds some corner of the club, some secluded table to tuck himself into, watching Bucky have the time of his life.

The music is too loud but Steve is too drunk to care at this point. The flashing lights are making him nauseous but closing his eyes helps. Bucky pushes another drink into his hand and runs a sweaty hand down the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go dance with Clarissa, you stay here, okay?” he shouts over the music, leaning down close enough for Steve to smell his cologne.

Steve inhales deeply and blinks dazedly up at the taller boy, murmuring, “I’ll wait f’you.”

As sick as the lights make him, he can’t tear his eyes away from Bucky. It’s like watching a solar eclipse—it’s so beautiful and yet Steve can feel the image of the boy he loves grind against the blonde burn into his retinas forever. He watches Bucky’s hands grab at her hips, at the small of her back. Watches her throw her head back, exposing the long line of her neck for Bucky to press his face into, nipping at her skin. It makes Steve’s skin crawl, makes his face burn hot and his blood scorch.

One of Bucky’s thick thighs slots between the girl’s, making her skirt ride up far higher than what’s acceptable. She’s a great dancer and he hates that he can admit it. Steve’s hand clenches around his glass and he tips it to his lips, the tequila spilling down his throat with a sharp burn.

His head spins as the girl wraps an arm around the back of the brunet’s neck and pulls Bucky down into a sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kiss. Bucky’s tongue slips into her mouth and bile rises up Steve’s throat.

He’s gonna be sick.

Normally he’d blame it on the tumor, finding himself wrapped around the seat of some fucking filthy toilet, but Steve knows he only has his terribly misplaced jealousy to blame. Bucky’s his best friend but that’s all he’s ever going to be, no matter how many sick, deviant feelings Steve has about him. His stomach abandons him again and his frail body shakes with the exertion.

It’s almost half an hour before Steve can finally drag his limbs up off the damp bathroom floor and back onto the dance floor. The alcohol is hitting him hard and he stumbles into a few of the people he passes on the way back to the tables.

He sees a flash of blonde hair pass by and that familiar, gratingly beautiful laugh and feels his teeth clench. Until he realizes Bucky isn’t with Clarissa.

“Hey!” Steve slurs, reaching out to catch her arm. Her upper lip curls but she stops anyway, her friends too engrossed in conversation to realize they’ve left her behind. “Hey, where’s Bucky?”

“ _Who?_ ” she calls over the music. Hell, she’s probably drunk too.

“ _Bucky!_ ” Steve shouts, trying to be heard over the music. “My friend! You were dancin’ with him!”

Her face lights up into a disheveled, lazy grin. “Oh, you mean Jamie?” she asks, words running together. “He’s so sweet. Went to go get us all more drinks and realized you weren’t there! Said he was gonna go tell you to head back to the hotel by yourself, but it’s been a bit so he might’ve lost you!”

“What way d’he go?”

She points to the back door and Steve doesn’t even bother with the common decency to say goodbye before he follows Bucky’s invisible path.

The night air is so sticky and humid it feels like honey dripping down his skin. But compared to the sweat-slick air inside the club, it’s cool and refreshing and Steve gulps it by the lungfuls, filling himself until the feverishness leaves his bones.

The alley is empty except for a few boys that can’t be much older than him smoking cigarettes. Their soft, high voices echo in his ears and one of them winks at Steve in a way that makes skin flush. They laugh as he stumbles past them, heart pounding as he ducks his head, damp hair falling into his face. “Where you going, cutie?” the youngest-looking of the boys calls, making a kissing sound as Steve scrubs at his face in an effort to settle his vision.

Their laughter dies as he passes an abandoned building and suddenly the world drops out from underneath him.

Steve’s ears ring and he can’t breathe.

He’d know that back anywhere, exposed from his rucked up shirt—could map out the constellations of freckles that dotted Bucky’s spine and shoulders even if he was blind, even in a storm. Steve’s mouth falls open and his throat closes as he stares at the pair of foreign hands griping at that gorgeous back. The muscles in Bucky’s forearm tense and cord from where he has it halfway down some red haired man’s pants, his mouth muffling the moans the man is letting out.

This isn’t happening.

Steve is gonna be sick.

Bucky laughs deep and low in the back of his throat as he strokes the man faster, grinding his hips against the redhead’s leg. His skin is flushed and they’re both panting and Steve still can’t fucking breathe.

“Buck?”

The darker haired boy turns so fast that he damn near loses his footing, stumbling as he meets Steve with wide, horrified eyes. The redhead hurries away before Steve can even blink and suddenly they’re left alone in the most petrifying silence he can ever imagine.

Tears break through like water against a crumbling damn as Bucky retches with a sob that sounds vaguely like his name. “S-Steve,” he begs weakly, the single word ripping through his body sharp as a gunshot. “Please, _don’t_ —”

“You’re gay.” It’s the only thing he can manage in his shocked state.

Bucky shakes his head, his whole body trembling. “ _No_ , I’m n-not,” he stammers, reaching out a hand as another sob tears through every tough exterior Bucky’s ever built.

How could he not have known?

His hand brushes Steve’s arm and out of shock alone, he stumbles back a step. Bucky’s face collapses—crumples until there’s nothing left but shame and self-loathing. He’s babbling something through deep, gulping inhales but Steve can’t quite understand. A prayer, maybe, as if God could ever save them from something like this. “I have to go,” Steve whispers, hollow and numb and far too drunk to stomach this situation. He turns from the older boy and tries to focus on the lights at the end of the alley and anything but Bucky’s crying.

He’s not even sure where he’s going at this point. All he can do is point his feet in the direction of the hotel and pray for the best. Steve’s mind is racing at a mile a minute but somehow he can’t get a single thought to stick other than the image of Bucky kissing that man in the alleyway.

God, Bucky was _gay_.

* * *


	4. Only In My Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky struggle to patch together their friendship after Miami

* * *

The shitty hotel mattress creaks under his weight as Steve shifts for the first time in nearly forty minutes. He’s begun to sober up; the room has stopped spinning in circles. Steve stares at the door, waiting, waiting, waiting, until, finally, the lock clicks almost an hour later.

Bucky stumbles through the doorway, his broad shoulders hunched, and Steve has never seen him look so small in his entire life. The brunet clenches his hands into fists at his side and doesn’t meet his eyes as Steve asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky shakes his head and his shoulders curl inward. “No, we’re _talking_ about this. Why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s silence until a small voice that doesn’t even sound like Bucky’s mumbles, “Because I didn’t want to tell anyone.” He finally looks up, eyes bloodshot and raw. “Because I hate myself for it.”

They can’t be more than eight feet away from one another, but it may as well be a mile. The divide only grows as Steve says, “But…all those girls…”

“Thought if I fucked enough girls, it would go away. Thought I could change myself,” Bucky mutters, voice hollow and empty as he hangs his head again. “Thought if I fucked enough of them, it would all go quiet.” His curls hang over his eyes as he sniffs weakly. “But it’s like a fucking open wound inside me, Stevie. I keep patching and patching but it spills out of me until I feel like I’m gonna _die_.”

In a better world, Steve would comfort his friend. Would carve open his stomach at the tenderest spot and spill all the words he’s ever eaten. In a better world, Steve would bleed out his own secret, just to promise Bucky he wasn’t alone.

But all he can do is chew a hole in the skin on the inside of his cheek and nod. “Okay—yeah,” he stammers. “Thanks for telling me, I guess.”

A single tear slips off the tip of the older boy’s nose and Bucky wipes his face quickly with a single, tanned forearm. “I talked—talked to the front desk about getting another room. They’re sold out so I’ll just sleep in the car tonight.”

“What are you talking about, Buck?”

“There’s more than enough cash for you to get a flight home and cover the last couple months of rent at our old place,” Bucky says, still rambling as each syllable becomes more and more unhinged. He’s shaking again and Steve’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “J-Just leave me the car, _p-please_. Just s-so I can get home and stay with m-my f-folks.” Bucky’s face is scarlet with shame, trembling with effort to keep from breaking down. Steve knows he’s hanging on by a thread.

Maybe they both are.

“I’m not going back to Brooklyn, not without you,” he whispers, fingers digging into he bony joints of his knees. His stomach weaves itself into knots, pulling tight at his lungs and heart. Bucky shakes his head, covering his mouth to muffle the sob he lets slip. “You’re staying right here, Buck. With me.”

“Y-You shouldn’t want to b-be around m-me,” Bucky whimpers, meeting Steve’s gaze with bloodshot eyes. “I’m s-sick…”

A small smile weakly pulls at Steve’s lips and he lets out a soft sigh. “So am I but you never left me.”

Bucky finally takes his first step forward, his carefully constructed mask cracking into pieces. He stumbles, crawling up on the bed as Steve scoots back and allows Bucky into the warmth of his body. He combs his fingers through the brunet’s hair as Bucky buries his wet face into Steve’s stomach and dissolves into sobs. “D-Don’t hate m-me…” The words come muffled into his tank top and Steve’s fingers still in Bucky’s curls. “P-Please…”

“I could never hate you, Buck. It just breaks my heart that you thought you couldn’t tell me,” he hums. “You’re my best friend and you always will be.”

Strong arms wrap around Steve’s waist, holding him tighter than ever before. He’s been on his own since he was 18, hasn’t had to hide his own secret from anyone other than Bucky, but Bucky has his family, has his sister, has everyone that loves him to hide from. Steve can’t even imagine how heavy it had gotten inside the other boy. Can’t imagine how long it had been rotting.

They fall asleep like that, limbs tangled, bodies slick with sweat, and neither of them willing to let go long enough to turn off the light.

~~~

They don’t talk about it when they leave Miami the next day.

They don’t talk about it even as they tour the Everglades or drive up the coast towards Tampa. Hell, they barely talk at all until they stop in Tallahassee. They’re right at edge of some national forest, Bucky stretched out in the grass next to the abandoned parking lot as Steve stretches against the car. His muscles ache and his headaches are near constant now, but all he can think about is the overwhelming silence.

“How long we gonna keep doing this, huh?” Steve calls, straightening up and putting his hands on his hips. “We ever gonna talk about it?”

Bucky doesn’t move, doesn’t look at him, only throws an arm up over his eyes to shield them from the sun. “Thought we _already_ talked about it. Don’t know what else you want me to say,” he mumbles, barely audible from where Steve is standing a dozen yards away.

Steve huffs and stomps across the tamped earth to stand over the older boy. “Stop being a fucking dick, we’re talking about it.”

The corners of the brunet’s mouth turn down and he draws a shaky breath. “Steve, _please_.”

He drops down beside Bucky and kicks at the older boy’s ribs. “You’ve barely said six words to me since that night and I can tell you’re pissed at me for knowing,” Steve says, hands picking at the grass absentmindedly. Bucky finally lets his arm fall and there are drying tears in the creases around his eyes. “You’ve literally been letting this eat you up for years without saying a word to anyone. You gotta let it out sometime.” Steve laughs a little, his dark sense of humor uncontrolled as he says, “And hey, I can take it to my grave.”

Bucky shakes his head, blinks back tears, and says, “You’re fucking shit, Rogers.”

“That’s why you love me.”

They pull out bottles of water and a bag of chips and Steve tries to ignore how nervous Bucky looks. “You know how my parents are, Steve. I so much as fail a class and my dad still thinks beating me is gonna change my transcripts. God knows what he’d do to me if he found out I was gay,” Bucky mumbles, picking at the label of his water. It peels off in small chunks and he drops them to the grass. “They’d never speak to me again. They’d never let me see my sister. I was scared that if I told anyone, even you, that it would somehow get back to them.”

“I’d never tell your folks.”

“Well, I know that now, but who the hell was I gonna trust when I was a fucking kid and realizing what I was?” He scrubs at his face weakly before hunching over, ducking his head out of Steve’s gaze. “I was scared. I’m still fucking scared,” Bucky admits.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” Steve asks, his heart beating so hard at the top of his throat that he wonders if Bucky can see it. There’s an overwhelming rush of relief as the older boy shakes his head. “You ever…umm…been with anyone at all?”

Bucky’s eyes look sharp and cutting in the bright sun—grey like the flash of a knife blade—as he studies Steve’s expression. His breathing evens and his jaw clenches as he shakes his head again. “No,” he whispers, lips curling around the ‘o’ carefully. “You know what’s going on in New York with guys like me. I don’t wanna die from that, Stevie.”

Steve’s heart drops into his stomach. It was all anyone in the city was talking about. The AIDS crisis was raging with no signs of stopping and the bodies were piling up with no one to claim them. There was no denying that fear, that overwhelming terror that loving, that wanting was going to get you killed, and he wanted nothing more than to tell Bucky he wasn’t alone in his anxiety. But all he can do is scoot closer and mutter, “You wouldn’t get that sick. You’ve never been sick a day in your life.”

“It’s not like that kind of sick, Steve. It’s like your kind of sick—the kind you don’t get better from. It’s the kind you don’t choose.”

They both fall silent and Bucky begins picking at the label again, his foot jiggling from under his knee. Steve blinks up at the hot sun and the blowing leaves on the trees and feels his throat go dry. “Would you wanna, though?” he croaks, pulse racing. “Would you wanna have a boyfriend? Would you want to be with someone if you could?”

A car passes by, far off on the road, and Steve turns over his shoulder just in time to see the cloud of dust rise up to the clouds. When he turns back, there are tracks of tears glistening on Bucky’s cheeks.

“Buck…”

The older boy wipes them away quickly with the heel of his hand, muttering, “Stop it, Steve, please. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Why does it matter that my dad would kill me if he finds out or that I can’t have the one person I want so why bother wanting anyone at all? Why the fuck does any of it matter?” The tears are flowing freely now, Bucky’s shoulders shaking as his face flushes red in frustration. “You’re dying, I’m going back into the fucking closet, _nothing’s_ going to fucking change.” Suddenly, Bucky stands up, snatching his water bottle from the grass. “I’ll be in the car. Come whenever you want.”

Steve stares at the bent blades of grass where Bucky had been sitting, watches a few pieces struggle to spring back to life. Crushed under the weight of responsibility like he is.

He sighs.

~~~

They barely get halfway to New Orleans before Steve gets sick.

Tears stream down his cheeks as bile burns his esophagus, hunched over on his hands and knees on the side of the road. It’s hotter than hell and Steve’s skin crawls with humidity. His nails dig into the asphalt and his index fingernail chips halfway down the nail bed as he heaves again. Vomit spills from his throat and his vision whites out for a moment.

Bucky’s sour mood seems to soften under the pressure of his illness and the older boy asks softly, “You want some water?”

Steve shakes his head and hurls again, gasping for air. His ears are ringing and his arms shake, threatening to give out. “W-Wanna go h-home,” he stammers, swallowing back stomach acid. He looks for Bucky but his vision is too blurry to find his face. “P-Please. Wanna g-go home, B-Buck…”

Everything’s going fuzzy. He feels weak, feels faint, feels like the ground is dropping out from underneath him. Where are they? Why are they on the side of the road? He wants to go home. He wants to go home. He wants to go home.

He must be repeating it out loud, because hands come around his burning face. “You’re right here, Stevie, focus on me,” Bucky says, wiping at the corner of Steve’s mouth with his thumb. “We had to stop because you were gonna barf, remember?” He shakes his head, stomach clenching again. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”

Steve struggles to keep his eyes open as he croaks, “Grass…Talking…You were mad…drove back on the highway…”

There’s a look on Bucky’s face that he can’t quite read, one that’s full of worry and fear, like Steve should be remembering more than he is. But if there’s something on his mind, he doesn’t let on. Only sighs and hauls him to his feet, sighing, “Let’s get you some water, get you out of the sun, okay? Try and get you to eat a sandwich.”

“Want my mom,” Steve whimpers, his feet slipping in the dirt. “Buck…mom needs me…”

“Your mom’s been gone a while, buddy,” Bucky reminds him. “She died two years ago. Heart attack, remember? I was the one that found her.” Steve’s stomach clenches down, heaving with emptiness and half-remembered grief. “You got stuck at school so you had me pick up groceries for her. Did CPR until the ambulance came but she still didn’t make it.”

His palm hits the hot metal roof of the car and he looks at Bucky, vision doubling. “Does she…does she know I’m sick?” he asks. “Wanna see her…”

Fingers brush his hair from his sweaty forehead and Steve hears a quiet, “Yeah, Stevie, she’s watching out for you.”

~~~

They splurge for a room in the French Quarter and Steve spends the next day and a half recovering in the softest bed he’s ever slept in while jazz music floats in softly through the windows. Bucky brings him sweet fruits and beignets from the stand outside the hotel and the hours stretch into days.

“You sure you don’t want to go exploring?” Bucky asks as they stretch out in the king size bed, the starched cotton sheets crinkling and creasing underneath him. There are polaroids scattered around the table as Steve rolls over, hair stuck to the sides of his temples, and he can’t help but stare at the long lines of the older boy’s abdomen, the muscles of his shoulders. Bucky’s skin is a dark, golden brown from all the time they’ve spent on the beaches and it glistens with the faintest hint of sweat from the New Orleanian heat. There’s a hint of powdered sugar hanging on his lower lip and Steve would do anything in the universe to kiss it away. “Only if you’re feeling up to it, of course.”

Steve reaches out a single hand and brushes the sugar away with his thumb. “I don’t wanna be anywhere but here.”

* * *


	5. With Somebody (Who Loves Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve reveals his own secrets and Bucky’s done wasting time.

* * *

They stop in Houston and San Antonio before heading toward New Mexico.

The Texan desert is scorching hot and, no matter how low Steve rolls the windows down, he’s still dripping sweat. Bucky’s foregone his shirt and is slouched in the drivers seat, flushed with the heat. Steve chugs another bottle of water and winces at how warm it is. “Ugh, how do people live like this?” he asks. “It’s so goddamn hot.”

“It gets this hot in Brooklyn, you realize that, right? Remember right after you turned ten and we had that heatwave? Caused that two day blackout,” Bucky says, fumbling for his own water.

“Yeah, but I feel like I’m fucking baking, Buck. Gonna turn into a piece of jerky, just shrivel up and die.” Another bead of sweat trickles down his temples, hair soaked and plastered to his head. Steve wipes his face with his shirt and groans again. “Buuuuck, it’s fucking hooooot,” he whines.

“Steve, I know it’s fucking hot. You complaining about it isn’t gonna do anything.”

The highway rumbles on and on, completely empty save for their car. The hot air shimmers across the sand and singes the pale skin on Steve’s arm as he hangs it out the window. The car rumbles beneath his palm and suddenly a low clanking sound starts. Steve’s brow furrows as he looks over at the older boy. “The car supposed to be doing that?”

Bucky opens his mouth but the clanking grows louder, rattling the entire car as it slows to a smoking stop on the side of the road. White clouds billow out of the hood and there’s nothing either of them can do but stare at their busted car.

“ _Fuck_.”

It doesn’t matter which one of them says it because they’re both thinking it. Bucky runs a hand through his hair and slams his hand on the steering wheel. He throws the door open as Steve says, “Maybe you shouldn’t have bought such a shitty car.”

“Steve, I swear to God, if you say _one_ _more_ thing to me today, I’m gonna leave you on the side of the road,” the older boy shouts as he wrenches the hood open.

“Oh yeah?” Steve mumbles to himself, crossing his arms over his chest. “And how do you plan on leaving me anywhere when you’re stuck here too?” He gets no answer and groans, rolling over on the seat and flopping down.

Time drags on.

It’s been three hours since their car broke down and they still haven’t seen a single vehicle. Bucky tried for an hour to fix whatever was wrong with the engine, but with little luck. So now they’re stuck on some abandoned road in the middle of fucking nowhere, just _waiting_.

“Buck…” Steve croaks, throat so parched it feels like sandpaper, “we got any water left?”

He’s stretched out on the ground in the car’s shadow—the only shade they have—while Bucky sits against the side of the car, watching for any kind of help. The older boy looks over at him, exhausted from the heat, and shakes his head. “We got one bottle left. Don’t know how long we’re gonna be out here.” Steve watches Bucky worry his cracking bottom lip, parched from being out in the sun, and reaches out a hand. The brunet doesn’t take it, instead drops his forehead down to his drawn-up knees.

“What if nobody comes?” he asks, staring over at the shimmering asphalt road. “It’s been hours.”

“Then once it gets dark, I’ll start walking back toward that town we passed,” Bucky mumbles, muffled against the skin of his legs.

“Buck, it’s like thirty miles back where we came from. You’d be walking all night.”

“I know, I know,” he says, voice cracking with frustration. “But I can’t just do nothing. I’ve spent this whole trip doing fucking nothing and I’m not gonna _sit_ here while we fucking die of dehydration.” Steve pushes himself up shakily as Bucky’s shoulders begin to tremble. “I’m so fucking useless, Stevie,” Bucky shudders, the first tears he’s shed outside of pure fear finally falling. “I keep trying, keep putting on a brave face so you don’t spend the entire trip thinking about what’s gonna happen. But I can’t even do _that_.”

Steve’s head spins as he shakes it, muttering, “I don’t think you’re useless.”

“My dad’s been right all along. Never done anything the way I should’ve, never been what I should’ve been, never—”

“Your dad’s an asshole and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Steve says. “I know you better than anyone in the world, him included. If I say that you’ve done everything in the world for me, then you better believe me.”

Bucky lifts his head to look at him and he looks so tired that it makes Steve’s heart ache. His eyes are bloodshot and flooded with tears, lips dry and cracking as he fights back the despondent frown pulling at his mouth. “Please don’t say that. You know what I’m like. The secrets I’ve kept.”

“We’ve all kept our own secrets, even me.”

They’re sitting side by side now and, when Steve turns to look at Bucky, his face is haloed in bright, golden sun. He had never quite believed in angels, but he’s starting to. Starting to believe in a God he’s pretended to pray to all these years. Because, even at the end, when he has nothing, he still has Bucky.

The older boy shakes his head and his brow furrows. “What kind of secrets could you ever have kept from me?” Bucky asks quietly.

It’s now or never. Steve has weeks, months at best, to live and he’ll never get another chance. Bucky came out to him; there’s no way Steve can allow himself to hide any longer. His heart beats hard and heavy against the center of his sternum as he sucks in a slow breath through his nose. His voice shakes with uncertainty as he whispers, “The same kind of secret you had.”

It doesn’t sink in, at least, not all at once. It takes a minute or two in the heat, in the confusion, for Bucky to realize what he’s saying. Bucky’s mouth falls open and a breath punches out of his chest. “You’re _gay_?”

Every word in Steve’s head goes quiet and all he can do is nod numbly. “Both,” he croaks finally. “I like both, I think.”

Bucky stares at him like he’s grown an extra head, like he’s slowly catching fire, like the world is ending all around them and they haven’t even noticed. Maybe all three are true and Steve has suddenly just stopped caring. A tear slips past Bucky’s dark lashes and he shakes his head. “ _No_. No, you—Why didn’t you tell me when you saw me outside the club in Miami? Do you have a boyfriend back home? How—How could you _keep_ this from me?” he chokes, words burning with embers of anger.

“Please don’t make me answer that,” Steve says as he shakes his head. “If you make me answer that then I’ll have to tell you the truth and I don’t know if I can do that yet.”

A flash of confusion washes over the other boy’s face, quick and sudden as a rogue wave, but the moment passes as a plume of dust appears from the far west. Bucky struggles to his feet and waves at the approaching semi truck as he stumbles out into the road.

“Buck?”

“Not now, please,” Bucky says as he looks back over his shoulder. “We’ll talk about this later but, just—not now.”

~~~

Steve wonders if he’s made the wrong decision, telling Bucky like that. It’s not like the cancer, where their lives are immediately uprooted by once single diagnosis. It’s not like Bucky’s secret where they suddenly question everything they’ve ever known each other. It’s something quieter, like a humming in the background or music you can only hear from one room over.

It’s something like an ember growing closer to tissue paper, itching for a spark.

They hitch a ride with the truck driver almost an hour to the next town and Steve gets a motel room while Bucky rides with the tow truck back to the car. He paces around the room, unable to sit and wait like he did back in Miami, until almost midnight.

The door creaks open and Bucky thuds in, dropping their backpacks on the ground, sunburned skin a deep crimson even in the dark. “Car’s gonna be a three day fix. We’re stuck here until then,” he says as Steve finally slows to a stop in front of him. Whatever worry is written all over Steve’s face, Bucky must be able to read it like an open book because he immediately opens his arms and whispers a quiet, “C’mere…” pulling Steve against his chest.

“I should’ve told you,” he mumbles against the brunet’s chest. “I should’ve told you a long time ago. Back in Miami, back in Brooklyn.” Tears finally come to his eyes and Steve sniffs a little, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist. “It shouldn’t have been like this.”

Bucky stiffens a little, his fingers stilling in the back of Steve’s hair. It’s so quiet, save the hum of the electric clock, until he finally mutters, “We should’ve had more time…”

Steve’s stomach drops down straight out of his body and he’s so grateful for the fact that the other boy can’t see his face. He nods, hidden away and shaking, praying to God that Bucky doesn’t mean it the way he took it. Eventually, the anxiety gets the better of him and he pulls away roughly. Steve scrubs his hand over the back of his neck and resumes his pacing. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have—”

“Steve, _stop_.”

Bucky pulls a brown bag out of his backpack and sits down on the bed. The paper tears and Steve almost cries in relief when he sees the food inside. “You got Chinese,” he croaks, his vision going blurry with tears.

A tired smile pulls at Bucky’s lips as he pats the bed next to him. “Yeah, now sit your ass down and help me eat it, okay?” the older boy says, handing over a pair of chopsticks.

They eat and eat and eat until Steve is sure he’s going to be sick. He goes to grab a couple sodas from the vending machine while Bucky tries to find something decent to watch on the few channels that the shitty motel actually has on the fuzzy TV. They end up settling for a staticky, black and white version of ‘Creature from the Black Lagoon’ and it feels different than every time they’ve shared a bed together.

Now, Steve can’t stop glancing at the way the white light casts dark shadows and bright highlights on the other boy’s face. Bucky’s strong jaw. His wide, straight nose. The sharp curve of his beautiful, perfect lips. This time, he’s all too acutely aware of how close their sitting, how their hands keep brushing against the other’s between their bodies. It would be so easy, Steve thinks, to just reach over and curl their fingers together.

It would be _so easy_.

His mouth goes dry when Bucky turns to him, an unreadable expression stitched deep into his face. They stare at each other for an eternity and a half, the movie playing low in the background, before Bucky finally whispers, “Steve, I’m really glad you told me.”

Steve nods and his voice is barely above a whisper as he croaks, “Yeah, so am I.”

~~~

They drive through the Southwest, stopping at every historical site they can find. They drive through Albuquerque and spend an entire afternoon at Georgia O’Keefe’s house outside of Santa Fe. Steve stares at the art for hours and damn near cries at how beautiful her studio is.

And then he damn near cries again when Bucky drives him out to the desert and surprises him with a paint set and canvas. He paints the dark red rocks glowing against the bright pink of the dying sun and deep blue sky as Bucky watches from the side, smile permanently plastered to his face. Steve concentrates on his painting, but it’s a struggle to look anywhere but Bucky’s face bathed in rose.

It’ll never get better than this.

It takes every ounce of self-control not to just grab the other boy and kiss him.

Steve fights the urge their entire drive up through New Mexico and Arizona until Bucky stops at an unassuming parking lot in the middle of a desert. Steve looks around at the other cars and hikers and raises an eyebrow. “Where the fuck _are_ we?”

Bucky grabs their packs and four water bottles, grinning. “Steve Rogers, welcome to the Grand Canyon.”

They’ve talked about this for _years_. There were plans to go after Steve graduated, plans to go after his mom died, plans to go after their first year of college, but nothing ever concrete. It was always Bucky’s dream more than his—dreams of wide open spaces after a lifetime of cramped apartments and the rush of city life. Years of dreaming, and now they’re finally here.

“Hey Buck, I got a question,” Steve pants as they hike along the Rim Trail. The sun creeps higher in the sky and he wishes he had put more sunscreen on. Bucky kicks a rock off the trail and glances over at him. “If you were in my place, what’d be your biggest regret?”

Bucky chuckles, low and under his breath. “Why do I gotta be in your place? What if my biggest regret then wouldn’t be the same regret I got now?”

He rolls his eyes and snaps, “Then gimme both, if you’re gonna be such an asswipe about it.”

The dirt crunches under their boots as Bucky takes a minute to think. Finally, after almost five minutes, he finally shrugs. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Probably the fact that I’ve never told anyone I loved them.” Steve opens his mouth but Bucky cuts him off quickly. “I know I say it to you and my family but I’ve never said it to anyone I’ve loved like that,” he says. “I’m scared I’ll never get to say it.”

Steve stops in his tracks, brow furrowing. Bucky turns and slows to a halt in front of him. “You’ve never told any of those girlfriends you had that you loved them?”

“Steve, I’m _gay_ , why would I have told any of my girlfriends that I love them?” he mumbles, almost ashamed. “I wasn’t going to tell someone a lie like that.” Bucky adjusts the straps on his backpack and scrubs his hands over his thighs. “But yeah, I just haven’t told anyone that. Probably my biggest regret.”

Steve’s heart sinks down into his stomach and he swallows back the lump in his throat. “So you…you’ve never been in love with anyone then?”

Bucky’s ears turn pink and, for the first time, Steve knows it’s not from the sun. He shakes his head and croaks, “I didn’t say that. Just that I’ve never said it.” Steve watches the other boy’s fists clench at his side like he’s trying to keep his hands busy. Bucky rocks up on the balls of his feet and his flush creeps out onto his cheeks. He chews on the inside of his lip and seems to vibrate with anxiety as he finally spits, “But I did— _do_ —love someone. I just haven’t told him.”

There’s a part of him that would be so easy to just ask who it is. But Steve knows that whatever answer he gets, if it’s not the answer he wants, it’s gonna break his goddamn heart to know Bucky loves someone that isn’t him.

So he puts the notion away and forces a thin smile. “Thanks for telling me, Buck.”

They don’t really talk much until Bucky pulls them off the main trail and down into the canyon. The trail winds through some sparse trees and suddenly they’re standing on a rock formation in the middle of the canyon curve right as the sun begins to set. The sky is awash with color and Steve lets out a shaking breath and drops to the ground, sweat dripping down his crooked spine.

His voice trembles as he stares out at the widest expanse of nature and whispers, “This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.” All Steve can hear is the rush of wind through the canyon and the rattle of the pine needles on the tree; he can’t even hear the people on the trail above him. He wipes a stray tear off his cheek and looks up at Bucky, half expecting him to be as awestruck by the view as he is.

But, when Steve looks up at the older boy, the only thing Bucky’s looking at is him.

“Buck?”

“Ask me,” Bucky says breathlessly, all in one rush like if he stops to breathe, he’ll chicken out completely. “Ask me who it is. Who I’m in love with.” Steve shakes his head, every muscle in his body trembling with fear and uncertainty. “Steve, please. _Ask_.”

He feels every beat of his heart so acutely that Steve begins to wonder if he’s even alive at all. He must be though. He has to be.

“Who?”

Bucky falls to his knees in front of him and grabs his face with both of his worn hands. “ _You_. God, it’s always been _you_ , Steve.”

They fall back into the sienna colored dirt as Bucky captures his mouth in a fervid kiss. Steve’s hands tangle in Bucky’s curls, pulling him closer, more in shock than anything else. His eyes flutter shut as the older boy’s tongue slips between his lips and he’s never wanted any moment to last longer than this.

They’re both panting and breathless by the time they break away from each other and Bucky’s eyes are blown black as a smile cracks his face. Steve blinks, hoping this isn’t all just some dream, and whispers, “You…you just kissed me…”

“I love you, Steve Rogers,” Bucky breathes, his thumbs tracing the rise and fall of his cheekbones. “I love you so goddamn much and I always have.”

The skin of his elbow scrapes along the ground as Steve props himself up, bringing their faces so close that he can see the dark freckles along Bucky’s nose and cheeks. A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside his body and Steve refuses to let it be contained. It slips from his mouth, free and clear and so full of joy it almost makes him sick, as his face splits in a grin. “Y’know, now you’re gonna have to find a new regret.”

Bucky kisses him again, hard and fast and tooth-cracking, before shoving Steve in the shoulder. “Now my only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner.”

“Better start making up for lost time, then.”

The sun begins to set on the western edge of the canyon as they fall back onto the ground, worries left behind them. Steve’s back arches as Bucky’s hand brushes up under his t-shirt, their backpacks abandoned beside them. They’ll have to hike back in the dark at this rate, but it’s the last thing on his mind. His head spins and his body melts into the red rock beneath him and suddenly Steve forgets he’s even dying.

Now comes the part where they start living.

* * *


	6. At This Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as they try, the boys begin to realize you can’t love a terminal illness away. Suddenly, it becomes a race to the coast.

* * *

Plans are meant to be broken, right?

Plans of seeing the sights in Vegas, of going gambling, of seeing whatever show they can scalp tickets for.

Plans that quickly become obsolete when they come to realize that all they want to do is kiss each other over and over and over again. They kiss each other the moment the elevator doors close in the hotel, bodies pressed against the mirrored walls; they kiss each other in the king size bed with the windows open to the glittering Strip below; they kiss each other in every corner of every casino they visit.

In an abandoned corner of the Bally’s. Behind a broken slot machine at the Aladdin. Pressed against the wall at Little Caesar’s. At Dunes. Barbary Coast. Marina. Riviera. Anywhere and everywhere. Bucky even goes as far as to pull Steve into a hard, dipped kiss right in front of the ‘Welcome To Las Vegas’ sign, his camera in one hand and not a care in the world at the passing cars.

They stay for three days and spend every night wrapped up tighter than ever before, open with their touches in ways that they should have been doing their entire lives.

It’s not like learning a new language. It’s being reminded of words, of syllables, of poetry that’s been there the entire time. Steve has always known every freckle on Bucky’s body, has traced every muscle and bone with his eyes a thousand times since they were teenagers. It’s not new to either of them.

It’s finding port in a storm.

It’s coming home to each other.

 _Finally_.

~~~

Yosemite is unlike anything Steve has ever seen.

It’s like the Grand Canyon, but it’s more open, _wider_. The trees tower above him and the rock walls hang above his head like skyscrapers. Steve can breathe out here. Can look around and not see a single person other than the beautiful boy in front of him. It’s only Bucky. It’s only ever been and will only ever be, Bucky.

They hike through the paths, stopping every few miles to rest in the shade, fingers and legs twisted together. They sit at the base of Half Dome and smoke joints with the rock climbers from Camp 4. It makes his head feel fuzzy but every time Bucky strokes his arm or his back, warmth spreads through every part of his body. Steve’s head lolls back against his shoulder as he looks up at the older boy. “This is nice, Buck. We oughta stay here longer.”

“Stay where? Here in California?”

A lazy grin crawls across his face as he nods. “Yeah. Right here. You and me, baby.”

Bucky laughs, soft and gentle, and brushes Steve’s hair out of his face. “Never thought I’d see Stevie Rogers call someone ‘baby’, let alone me.” He stretches out on the ground and pulls Steve down against him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m honored.”

They nap in the shade of the valley for a few hours before heading out on another hike. The sun is high over the granite faces and Steve can feel it burning the back of his neck as he follows Bucky through the tall grass. “I meant what I said,” he mutters, blinking back the sunlight in his eyes. “It’d be nice to stay out here. Maybe we don’t have to go back to Brooklyn.”

“You made me promise to bring you back to be with your mom, remember?” Bucky calls, kicking a pine cone. “I don’t break promises to you.”

Steve blinks again and shakes his head a little, trying to get rid of the glowing halo around the field of his vision. His heart stops suddenly and thuds hard against his chest. Steve stumbles a little, catching his hand on a stump. The older boy looks back at him as Steve mumbles, “I’m fine, I’m fine.” He stands up straight and immediately feels the earth begin to sink underneath him as Bucky takes the first steps back toward him. “Buck?”

“Steve, you okay?”

Steve grips Bucky’s hand as his vision blurs around the edges. There’s a high pitched ringing in his ears that drowns everything out as the older boy turns to him, mouthing some words that he can’t quite hear. He blinks, body beginning to convulse, and the world spins in a frantic circle.

Everything goes black.

~~~

It’s the incessant beeping that finally wakes him up.

Steve blinks awake, body numb and frozen. He tries to sit up but he’s far too weak for even that motion. There are monitors taped to his chest and stomach, an IV running down his left arm, and an oxygen mask strapped to his face. Steve’s hands shake as he fumbles for the call button, croaking weakly, “Nu…Nurse…”

“Stevie?”

His head lolls to the side and his stomach flips when he sees Bucky scrambling up from the chair next to his bed. His headache is blinding, overwhelming everything in sight. He can barely see, can barely hear, can’t smell anything but blood. Tears flood past his eyelashes as Steve grits his teeth, whimpering in pain. “Hurts…” he whines, struggling for oxygen even with the mask. “B-Buck…”

Bucky’s cool hand smooths over his sweaty forehead and a pair of worried blue eyes comes into focus above him. “It’s okay, Steve, just lay back. The doctors are gonna come check you out soon.”

“What h-happened?”

“You just dropped. You started shaking and threw up. Then you passed out. The doctors said you had a grand mal seizure.” Bucky’s voice is wobbling but he’s doing his best not to show how fucking terrified he is. “It wasn’t like your other seizure though. You stopped breathing. Your heart stopped. The rangers had to do CPR until an ambulance made it out to the park. I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

Steve goes to open his mouth but the pain is too much. The only noise that comes is a grotesque, grating sob as his back arches again, muscles growing tense.

“No, no, no,” Bucky says, scrambling to hold the blond’s head. “ _Help_! I need some help in here!” Steve’s vision flickers as the tendons in his neck bulge, mouth caught in a silent scream. There are hands on his face, soothing his burning skin, but he can’t see far enough to know who they belong to. He feels only pain. “Goddamn it, I need a fucking nurse!” Bucky screams.

The world fades out again and all Steve can see is Bucky’s terrified face over him.

He wakes up the next day and has no idea how much time he’s lost. His headache is gone but he’s so drugged up that he can barely feel anything at all. Steve sucks a slow breath in and forced his eyes over to the chair. Bucky’s tucked in a painfully uncomfortable position, sideways in the chair with his knees pulled up to rest his head on.

The older boy looks exhausted but he’s never been more beautiful, lashes spread over sleep-flushes cheeks, pink lips parted as Bucky breathes deep and slow in his sleep. It hurts, how much Steve loves him. But it hurts even more when he thinks about the life they’ll never have together. Especially now with Steve in the hospital. He’s never going to get out of here, never going to make it to the coast, never going to have everything Bucky promised him.

Steve was going to die in this hospital bed.

“Buck…” he slurs, reaching a hand out and accidentally knocking the half dozen bottles of pills in his tray table. The brunet stirs but doesn’t wake. “Buck…gotta…gotta get up…” God, he’s so tired, so exhausted from the seizures, but Steve has to wake the other boy up. They have to get out of here. “Bucky, please…”

His fingers brush Bucky’s ankle and he jerks awake, chest heaving. “Oh my god, Steve,” he says groggily, still panicked but unable to shake the last bits of sleep. “Hold on, lemme get the doctor.”

“Wait…”

Bucky freezes, chin wobbling as he tries to hold back tears. “Steve, please. Let me go get the doctor. _Please_.”

“If you get the doctor…I’m never gettin’ outta here…” Steve curls his fingers around the taller man’s wrist as Bucky shakily sits on the edge of the hospital bed. “I don’t wanna…” His voice fails him as tears flood his unfocused eyes. “I’m _dyin_ ’, Buck.”

“N-No,” Bucky whispers, leaning down and pushing the damp hair off Steve’s forehead. “You’re not, you’re gonna be j-just f-fine.” He settles down in the bed, long limbs hanging off as he does his best to curl around Steve. He’s crying so hard that his face is flushed and splotchy and Steve wishes none of this had ever happened. “It’s too s-soon,” Bucky sobs as they cling to each other, wet faces pressed together. “You’re s-supposed to have m-more t-time.”

“You’d promise me I’d see the ocean,” Steve whispers. “You promised…Need you t’keep it…”

“Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Anything, Stevie…”

It takes some maneuvering and a well timed distraction—namely a bathroom trashcan that mysteriously catches fire—for them to get out. Steve is drowning in Bucky’s two-sizes-too-big sweatshirt, but it covers the fact that he’s got nothing but a hospital gown on underneath as the older boy carries him out a side door. His eyes flutter shut as he lays in the front bench of the car in the parking lot, too weak to dress himself as Bucky puts underwear and shorts on him. “I’m tired, Buck…” he croaks, his mind rocking aimlessly around his head like a boat on open water. “So tired…”

Bucky kisses the inside of his knee and gently whispers, “We’re almost there, Steve. You just gotta hang on a little longer.”

He nods and swallows dryly, his tongue and throat feeling like cotton. The leather feels cool against his burning cheek and Steve curls his hand around Bucky’s palm when he feels it on his shoulder. The world shifts as Bucky lifts his head up to rest on the older boy’s thigh. The car rumbles on and they turn westward once more.

Steve slips exhaustedly into uneasy sleep.

~~~

The sun is setting by the time the car rumbles to a stop.

“Steve…” Bucky murmurs, petting his hair gently, “we’re here.”

He blinks his eyes open to skies of orange and gold. Deep pinks bleed into navy blues and purples, the stars only beginning their ascent across the heavens. The smell of salt is heavy in the air as Bucky opens the car door. Steve sits up gingerly, muscles sore and head throbbing, but none of it matters anymore.

They _made_ it.

The sand shifts underneath his feet as Bucky takes his hand. The coast is empty and silent—save for the rush of waves across the beach. Steve breathes out a shaky laugh and a smile spreads across his face. “It’s beautiful,” he whispers.

They sink their bodies in the cool, salty water and Bucky doesn’t let go for a single moment. They float and swim and Steve’s head never slips below the surface of the waves—not even once. It’s the end of the journey. The pavement of the road ending. This was their moment of calm in the world that’s been given to them. Bucky kisses him and he tastes like the ocean, wild and free and unyielding.

Steve forgets the future even exists. All they have, all they need, is here and now.

The sun sets and the flaps on the tent blow in the gentle breeze. Steve can see the bright, full moon hanging heavy over the water. Bucky looks pearlescent in the light, some precious, glowing trinket that Steve has been lucky enough to have all to himself. He runs his hands up the taller boy’s arms, over his shoulders, over his beautiful neck and face. He could touch Bucky a thousand times over and never get bored or tired or sick of a single moment.

He could spend a million years underneath him and it would never be enough.

“I want this,” he says quietly as Bucky lifts his head up off Steve’s chest. “I want you. I don’t want to wait and die not having everything, Buck.”

Even in the low light of their lantern, Steve can see the flush rise on the other boy’s face. His own cheeks burn with a mix of anticipation and desire and there’s no ignoring what his words mean. Bucky blinks and chews on the inside of his lower lip for a moment. “Are you sure, Stevie? After this morning, should we really be doing this?”

He pushes himself up on one elbow to bring their faces closer together. “Of course I’m sure,” Steve whispers before kissing Bucky gently. “You’re always so careful with me.”

Their kissing deepens as Bucky cups the back of Steve’s head and crawls in between his legs. Their hearts are beating hard and fast and Steve feels a bead of sweat trickle down his crooked spine. Bucky’s chest is slick against his own as he kisses a trail down Steve’s jaw to his neck. “I want you to feel so good. To just forget about everything other than me,” he whispers.

Steve arches against the older boy as a hand sneaks into his shorts, cupping his half-hard cock. “It’s only you, Buck. It’s only ever been you.”

Time slows to a creeping crawl, slow as molasses in the winter. Steve goes somewhere else in his mind as Bucky settles between his legs, mouth covering any warm, salty patch of skin he can get his tongue on. The waves crash against the beach as Bucky licks a long stripe over Steve’s hole, arms hooked over his hips to keep him still. His tongue delves deep and Steve has half a mind to wonder where he’s honed his technique. If he has time, he’ll send thank you notes to all of Bucky’s old girlfriends from his deathbed.

He lets out a sharp moan as Bucky finally breeches his body, tongue fucking in and out so tenderly that it makes his legs tremble. “Buck,” he gasps, fisting his fingers in the other boy’s dark curls. “Buck, your goddamn mouth. Want—Want more…”

Bucky’s eyes are dark as the night sky above them as he tilts them to meet Steve’s. He pulls his head up, lips shiny with spit and swollen, and says, “I’m taking my time with you.”

It’s an eternity before Bucky finally takes pity on him and slips a single finger into him. Opens him like Steve is some delicate, priceless object to be admired and touched with white gloves. Steve is hard and leaking by the time he gets a second finger, cock a throbbing red as it jerks against his stomach with every crook of Bucky’s talented hands.

“Enough,” he pants, pulling Bucky up into a teeth-crushing, lip-bruising kiss. Steve can taste the faintest hint of salt and blood on the brunet’s tongue but, God, what a reminder that they’re alive. “I want you to fuck me. Please, Bucky. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

There’s a moment when he thinks that Bucky is going to take this away from him. That single moment of hesitation where they both wonder if this is all wrong. If they shouldn’t be giving themselves to each other the way they are now. But then that flash of hesitation passes and Bucky kisses him deeply, tongue slipping between his lips as Steve feels the blunt head of Bucky’s cock against his hole.

The world shifts and everything goes quiet and still.

His mouth falls open against Bucky’s lips and a long, low moan escapes as the other boy enters him in one slow movement. Steve nails dig into Bucky’s back, refusing to let him move away a single inch. Bucky’s forehead drops down to his shoulder and he croaks, “God, Steve, you feel so good. I’m not gonna last.”

“I’m not gonna last either, Buck. Just make it worth it.”

This may be the last chance they’ll ever get.

Bucky fucks him slow and deep, hips moving in steady strokes in between Steve’s milky-white thighs. The constant pressure on his prostate with every thrust makes his stomach clench and Steve’s head falls back. He grips anything he can get a hold of—Bucky’s hair, his back, the sleeping bag beneath them—but nothing eases the burning rush of ecstasy coursing through his body. “H-Harder,” Steve begs, weakly trying to fuck himself down on the other man’s cock. “Please…I can t-take it.”

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” Bucky pants, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded. He drops down to one elbow, working his other hand between their bodies to wrap around Steve’s shaft. He swallows the younger boy’s moan like he’s dying of thirst and snaps his hips roughly. “Gotta promise I’m not hurting you…”

“You’re not. You never will.”

Steve feels it come as a cresting wave. Feels it come like he’s standing on the beach and the tide rolls in over his feet. Feels it come like the wind in his hair and the buzzing hum of a far off storm crackling over the open sea. His breath catches in his lungs and every muscle in his body goes stiff as his orgasm crashes through his body, rushing through every bone.

Bucky follows him—always follows him, even to the end of the earth—and Steve refuses to let him go.

“I love you, Buck.”

A small, breathless kiss lands underneath his jaw and Steve’s eyes slip closed as Bucky whispers, “I love you too.”

* * *


	7. I Think We’re Alone Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve stops running and meets his illness head on. Bucky is left to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being slow to update, I accidentally forgot to post this chapter last week. So here you are.
> 
> Warnings at the end of the end of the chapter.
> 
> ...I’m sorry.

* * *

Steve forgets how long they’ve been at the beach. Maybe it’s been a few days, maybe a few weeks. Maybe they’ve spent their whole lives here and their borrowed time has stopped mattering.

But as happy and in love they are, they can’t change what fate they’ve been handed.

Steve can only run so long.

He wakes long before dawn, before the sun has even begun to bleed anything more than Prussian blue across the sky. He can see the profile of Bucky’s face in the darkness, all soft lines and hard angles. The older boy finally looks at peace after so much worry and it makes this decision even harder. Steve leans down and gently places a tender kiss on Bucky’s temple, his gaze lingering on his lover’s face for as long as he can before he crawls out of the tent.

The waves break softly against the sand and he takes a deep breath. The stars are still hanging in the sky and, far off in the horizon behind him, the sun makes its first spread. The wind from the west whips his hair around his face and, for the first time in months, Steve feels no pain.

Only tranquility.

The skin on his chest raises with goosebumps as he pulls his shirt up over his head. Steve folds the thin fabric carefully before unbuttoning his shorts. Soon, all of his clothes are folded in a careful pile at his bare feet. Steve’s toes curl in the soft, dry sand and he stares out into the dark waves.

The lid of his seizure medication falls at his feet as he opens the small bottle and empties it into his hand. There are more than a dozen—his fingers barely able to contain all of them, but they go down easier than he thought, settling in his stomach like they were never even there.

The sand dips underneath his toes, shells spreading underneath the balls of his feet as the surf meets him. Foam clings to the fair hair on his calves as Steve steps further and further into the dark ocean. It’s cold but there’s a warmth that spreads through his entire body, starting with his heavy heart, that masks the initial shock. He lets out a trembling breath, muscles clenching as it washes over his thighs and stomach.

Steve takes one long, lasting look toward the beach, toward the tent and the boy he loves. Burns it into his memory until there’s nothing left but the memory of Bucky’s perfect face as he sleeps.

It’ll be enough, even at the end.

He swims out and out and out until Steve loses sight of the coast when he turns back to look. There’s only ocean and the smell of salt all around him. He’s gasping for air, mouth tilted to the still-dark sky as he drags oxygen into his lungs, but he can feel his heartbeat slow. Can feel his eyelids and limbs grow heavy.

Steve spreads his arms out and finds himself floating on his back, watching the starts fade from the sky, one by one.

Time creeps to a stop. His heart beats slower and slower until it’s a dull _thud...thud……thud_ behind his eyes. Steve’s feet stop kicking and his knees bend, everything going numb. His eyes slip closed and the first taste of saltwater hits his tongue.

Bucky’s beautiful face floats through the darkness of his mind among the stars Steve will never forget, not even now. A glorious swirl of dark curls, blue eyes as deep and wild as a storm, and warm hands caressing his face. “I love you,” Steve whispers, with nothing but the water and the wild of the open heavens to hear him. “I’ll always love you, Buck.”

The waves come up over his head and he disappears into the darkness as the sun bleeds across the Pacific Ocean.

~~~

The sun streams in through the open flaps, hot and burning bright against his eyelids as Bucky flips over inside the tent. His back is slick with sweat and his curls are plastered to his neck. He throws an arm out for Steve and finds an empty spot.

He blinks awake and immediately bolts upright. His heart is beating hard and fast in his chest as he scrambles out of the tent, sand sticking to his hands and feet. “Steve?” he calls, looking first to the car and then to the ocean. Something’s not right—he can feel it in his bones, in every inch of crawling, sunburnt skin on his body. His stomach rises to his throat and all Bucky can taste is bile.

He’s never felt fear. Not like this.

“Steve?!” It comes ripping out of his throat, more of a sob than a scream, and suddenly Bucky’s spinning around on the beach just trying to catch a glimpse of the blond. But the coast is deserted, waves crashing against the shore loud enough to drown out the rush of blood in his ears. “STEVE!!”

Then he sees it. Sitting on the sand, wet from the tide—a neatly folded pile of clothes a hundred yards down the beach. Bucky stumbles, tumbling through the sand as he scrambles down the coast.

He can barely see through the tears as he drops to his knees, digging through Steve’s clothes. A empty pill bottle slips through his fingers and the world drops out from underneath him.

Bucky can’t get to the water fast enough.

He dives in, water flooding into his nose and mouth as he shouts Steve’s name again. His heart is beating so hard, so fast in his chest that it feels like the motor in their car—sputtering just to stay alive. “Steve! Steve!” Bucky coughs as he breaks the surface, swimming out through the surf. “ _STEVE!!_ ” His legs kick and his arms cut through the water as he swims out far enough that he begins to lose sight of the shore.

His head slips under the water and it takes all of Bucky’s strength to get back up. He has to find Steve. Steve isn’t as good of a swimmer as he is and Bucky has to get him back to shore. He has to find Steve. The water is cold and it’s making his muscles cramp up and his lungs tighten; he can’t imagine how hard it’s going to be with Steve’s asthma.

It’s like a mantra. A terrible mantra. _Find Steve. Find Steve. Find Steve._

He swims and swims until the saltwater blurs his vision too much to see, until his legs give up and Bucky finds himself gasping for breath. His head slips underwater again and he hears a splash behind him. “Steve?” he croaks, reaching a hand up, swallowing more ocean water than he means to. “Steve, I—”

A pair of arms wrap around his torso and Bucky finds himself facedown on the deck of a sailboat, coughing up salt and throwing up water. “Hey kid, you shouldn’t be this far out!” a man says, throwing a blanket around him. “Katie, help me with his clothes.”

Bucky shakes his head deliriously, gasping deep lungfuls of air. He shoves at the hands on his body, coughing, “Ste...Steve…Gotta find ‘im.”

“There’s no one else out here,” the woman says as her dark face and braids come into focus. “We barely saw you and Andrew was worried he wasn’t going to get to you in time. Was your friend out with you?”

He shakes his head again, sobbing, “His clothes. I j-just found h-his clothes…”

Both Katie and Andrew fall silent, the heavy reality of what happened sinks in. The man’s voice is quiet as he whispers, “I’ll radio the Coast Guard.”

Nobody actually addresses the fact that Steve is missing to him. Nobody mentions it, nobody asks him any questions until it gets dark and the search boats come in. Bucky sits on the beach, numb with worry, and forgets to breathe for hours.

There’s no sign of Steve anywhere.

One of the men from the search boats crouches down in front of him and Bucky feels another tear slip down his cheek. “I’m sorry, kid, but we haven’t found any sign of your friend,” the man says gently, quietly, like he’s walking on eggshells. “If he was in a boat or out surfing, he might’ve had a better chance, but the water’s getting cold and if we haven’t found him by now…” Bucky nods shakily, shuddering against the cool wind and his held-back sobs. “Is there…is there anyone we need to call? Your friend have any family?”

He shakes his head, scrubbing his eyes with a trembling, sand-covered hand. “N-No,” he croaks, “just me.”

Suddenly, the quiver in his chin overtakes his entire face and Bucky buries his head in his hands as the first sob tears through his body. He can’t have lost Steve. They were supposed to have more time together. He was supposed to bring him home, bury Steve back in Brooklyn next to his parents.

He _failed_.

~~~

Sleep does not come easy.

It comes in exhausted washes of time, eaten out of Bucky’s mind like moths to wool. Sleep comes restlessly, unable to ignore the emptiness beside him. It comes never at night, but only in the hottest afternoons in a sweltering tent, when all hope abandons him.

Bucky stays at the beach for two weeks, spending every day and every night combing miles of the beach for anything that would point to Steve being alive. But he finds nothing and, with every passing hour, loses more and more hope. The sea has swallowed the only boy he’s ever been in love with and taken everything from him.

He sends a postcard to his sister about the accident and cries over every word, desperately trying not to smudge the ink. He leaves the cancer out, the pills out, the seizures and the sickness, leaves out the part where he’s fallen in love. Leaves out everything except that Steve is dead and that Bucky has no idea when he’s coming back home. The postcard will get there before he does but he prays he won’t have to explain it any further when he returns to Brooklyn without Steve.

The world stops turning and the hot summer days begin to bleed into one another.

And still, sleep does not come.

~~~

It’s painful, packing Steve’s things up. It’s like an open wound, festering and raw and still-bleeding with every shirt he folds. His grief spills from him as he shoves things in bags, leaving stains like hot, slick blood. But, through all of it, Bucky doesn’t cry; he’s too numb to cry at this point. He’s too torn apart, too worn thin, too wrung dry to cry anymore.

It’s all just too much.

He drives up the coast in silence, unable to stop until he hits Portland, Oregon. He sleeps in his car in an abandoned gas station parking lot for four hours before heading on the road again. The rumble of the road bleeds into the white noise in his head and he goes miles and hours before realizing he’s even been driving.

Bucky gets to Chicago before he even bothers to get a motel room.

His hands shake as he turns the doorknob of the peeling door, lugging his backpack into the the room. It’s a far cry from their crisp, white hotel room in New Orleans, with the windows open and the gentle breeze across their faces. God, he wish he had known back then, what little time they would truly have. He should’ve kissed Steve then, with sugar lips and warm skin on cotton sheets.

The bed sinks as he sits on it, metal frame creaking. He’s too tired to eat, too tired to sleep, to tired to breathe, it feels like. Without Steve, living is nothing more than existing.

If it’s even living at all.

Bucky blinks back the first tears he’s shed since mailing the postcard back in Santa Cruz and whispers, “Why did you leave me, Stevie?” His voice shakes with every syllables and his chest feels tight and heavy. “You promised you would never leave me.”

He gets no answer but the rumble of cars off the highway and the faint sound of TV playing in the room over. The silence hurts more than anything and Bucky cannot stop the sob that tears from his throat. His stomach threatens to turn on him and he digs his hands into the rough and worn bedsheet.

“You _promised_.”

The anxious grief eats away at him piece by piece until Bucky can’t stand it. He digs for the pack of cigarettes at the bottom of his bag. He never smoked around Steve—his asthma was always too bad to be around smoke long—but it’s just another reminder that Bucky’s the only one left. His fingers wrap around his pack but, when he pulls it free, a single Polaroid falls out and flutters to the floor.

Bucky’s heart stops dead in his chest.

It’s a picture of Steve sitting on the beach, hair whipping around his sunburned face. His shoulders are bare and pink and freckled, his smile bright and beaming. Steve’s blue eyes are crinkled with joy and he’s laughing at some joke Bucky must have told him. It’s a slice of life they should have been able to enjoy, something to be savored.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and pulls the rest of the pictures from his bag with shaking hands. There are pictures of Steve at Yosemite, in Boston, in Florida. Every moment of the trip, he had managed to document, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. It would never be enough.

As Bucky spreads them out on the bed, he finds one that doesn’t belong with the rest. It’s a single picture of himself, fast asleep in the fading light, head tucked in Steve’s lap. The younger boy’s fingers are tangled through his dark curls and Bucky doesn’t even remember the picture being taken. It’s thicker than all of the other photographs and, when he turns it over, there’s a single, folded note taped to the back.

There are only two words on the front and his chin quivers as they sink in.

‘ _For After_ ’

He takes a deep breath and carefully unfolds the small note.

_Dear Bucky,_

_This isn’t how I was planning on saying goodbye to you. I was planning on saying goodbye when we were a hundred years old and too old for goodbyes to matter, not when I was twenty years old and dying of brain cancer. Life got in the way and I’ll never forgive myself for what I did, so I can only hope and pray that someday, you’ll find the forgiveness I don’t deserve._

_If there’s anything you take away from this trip, it’s how good it feels to be alive. How good it feels to be out in the world, unafraid of loving and being loved. I won’t be by your side but I’ll never stop loving you, not even after the end. All I can ask of you is that you don’t run and hide because of what I did. I know how hard it’s gonna be, but I want you to be out. It kills me to think that you’ll go back home and go into the closet. You gotta do all the living for both of us now, so don’t screw it up._

_I got two weeks to love you and those two weeks were the best days of my life. You were enough for me. If I leave you with anything, it’ll be that. You were always enough._

_I’ll be waiting for you. All I ask is that you take your time._

_Love always,_   
_Your Steve_

The note falls in his hands and Bucky cannot stop the guttural scream that tears from his throat. He covers his mouth and screams and screams until his throat goes raw and all he can do is curl over his pictures and Steve’s note, sobs wracking his body.

It feels like he’s dying all over again. Death would be sweeter and more welcomed than this, though. All of the unknowns had disappeared and he was left with a final certainty—that Steve had walked into the Pacific and let the water drag him out to sea. There was no hope for return, no holdout of hope that Steve would call him from some small town in California, saying that he was ready to come back home.

Steve was _gone_.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Steve takes enough drugs to give himself an overdose then walks into the Pacific Ocean to commit suicide.
> 
> I am so so sorry I had to do this but we all knew it was coming. I hope you enjoyed this chapter regardless.


	8. With or Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky goes home.

* * *

He sleeps for seventeen hours and it feels like he’s barely fallen asleep at all. He feels hungover, like he’s been drinking for days, and Bucky wonders if normalcy will ever come. If there will ever be a time where he doesn’t have a gaping hole in his chest where his heart would be.

Steve’s note is constantly on his mind as he packs everything up again, stacking the pictures in a careful pile as the mid-morning sun streams through the cracked windows.

_‘You gotta do the living for both of us now, so don’t screw it up.’_

It plays like a mantra in his head as Bucky passes the key over to the uninterested girl at the counter. It plays and plays as he heads back east, the sun in his eyes until noon.

Steve had told him to keep on living, to stay out and proud, to find his own place in the world. They’ve always been side by side, attached at the hip since they were too young to be left alone, but now it’s just Bucky. It’s just Bucky who has to go back to an empty apartment, order a headstone for a grave with no body.

How could that _ever_ be considered living?

He doesn’t drive as far as he could, choosing instead to stop in Pittsburg before it gets dark. There’s no point in bothering with a hotel room and Bucky is itching for a drink so bad. Something to make him forget. Something to numb the pain.

There’s a gay bar on the edge of downtown that Bucky finds after asking around for almost an hour. The music is up and the drinks are flowing and he’s never been more aware of how alone he is. There are men coupled up on the dance floor, against the walls, and at the bar. He’s got half a mind to just turn back out the door but he truly wants nothing more than to suck down an entire bottle of whiskey and pass out in his car.

The bartender gives him a smile and a wink as Bucky throws himself down on a stool. “Hey handsome, what can I get for a stud like you?”

“Um…” He coughs a little, clearing his burning throat. “Can I just get a double whiskey? Straight.”

The bartender laughs and grabs a bottle behind him. “I can get you a whiskey but I can’t guarantee you it’ll be straight.” Bucky chuckles weakly, struggling to keep his strong exterior. Steve would’ve been laughing. Steve would’ve made some snapping comeback with that razor sharp mind of his. His laugh turns into a sharp sob and tears rise quickly to his eyes. Bucky scrubs his face with both his hands as the bartender turns around, glass in hand. The other man’s eyes go wide and he sets the glass down. “Oh baby, what’s wrong?”

“Sorry, it’s my—my boyfriend, S-Steve,” Bucky chokes, unsure if the bartender can even hear him over the music. “He—He passed almost three weeks ago…”

There’s a look of camaraderie that floods over the other man’s face as he looks at Bucky. Sympathy that only losing a loved one in the most abrupt, incurable, and sudden ways creates. The bartender offers him a somber smile and says, “I’ve lost two myself. Was it AIDS?”

Bucky shakes his head, fumbling for the glass of whiskey. “He was sick; he had brain cancer. We went on a road trip out from Brooklyn to California.” His voice catches in his throat as he says, “He went swimming one morning. We couldn’t find him…” He downs half the glass in one go and tries to ignore the single tear that slips down his cheek. “I lost him.”

The bartender sighs quietly and reaches back for the bottle. “Don’t let my boss know, but this is on the house. I’m real sorry about your boyfriend, sweetheart. It’s pretty easy to see how much he meant to you.”

“He told me I had to do the living for both of us,” Bucky says, looking up with red-rimmed eyes. “That he wants me to come out to my family.”

“Well,” the other man says with a quirk of the lips, “I’d be pretty superstitious not honoring a man’s last request.” He looks down the bar and motions to another patron before giving Bucky one last look. “But that’s just me.”

Bucky’s hand curls around the bottle of whiskey as the words sink in. It’s what Steve wanted. It’s _all_ Steve wanted. He has to do the living for both of them but he can’t do that hiding who he is. He has to come out. He’s spent his entire life hiding who he is and he lost out on years of being with Steve because of it. How much more was he going to miss if he just sat back and did nothing?

He has to do it.

He _will_ do it.

For Steve.

~~~

Bucky wakes up in his car as the sun streams over the skyline. His head is throbbing from the alcohol and he’s unsure if he’s actually sober or not. He’s got half a dozen of the Polaroids clenched in his hand and his eyes burn with tears when he realizes that one of them has crumpled along the edges.

His muscles feel stiff as he sits up, looking around at his surroundings. He’s still outside the bar and there are people bustling around, heading to work. The world is moving around him and Bucky’s stuck still in his grief.

Grief that Steve didn’t want to leave behind.

The ground spins beneath him as Bucky exits the car, heading toward the phone booth out front. If he couldn’t keep every other promise he had made to Steve, he could at least keep this one.

He elbows the door of the booth closed as his fingers fumble with the change in his pockets, his other hand clutching the picture of Steve from that last day on the beach. He slips five dimes into the slot and dials his parents’ landline, praying that they’re awake enough to answer. It rings four times before his mother answers with a tired, “Hello?”

Bucky blinks back tears and sucks in a shaky breath, bouncing his leg nervously. “Mama?” he finally says, breaking the silence. “It’s me, James.”

A breath of relief punches out of his mother as she says, “Oh thank God, you’ve called. We just got your postcard yesterday. Darling, I am so, so sorry about Steven. Are you okay?”

He shakes his head, knowing full well she can’t see him, and sinks to the ground, his thumbnail tracing over Steve’s perfect face. “No, Mama. I miss him so much. I miss him so much I feel like I’m dying myself. I don’t know what to do.”

There’s a painfully long silence on the other end of the line before his mother finally responds. “Are you coming home soon?”

“I’ll be home tonight. I’m only a few hours away,” he mutters, gripping the handle of the phone tighter in his fist. “But Mama, before I come home, can you get Dad and Rebecca on the line. I just—I just need them with you right now, okay?”

“Okay, okay, just give me a second.”

Bucky closes his eyes and rests his forehead on his drawn-up knees. He can do this. Steve wanted him to do this. It’s the only way. He takes a deep breath and feels a soft hand on the back of his neck. The hairs on his arms rise as a soft voice says, _“I’m right here, Buck. Don’t worry.”_

His head snaps up and his breath catches in his lungs. “Steve?”

“James? We’re all here.”

Bucky blinks, realizing it’s only his mother’s voice. He shakes out the thoughts in his head and swallows back the lump in his throat. Pulling out the picture, Bucky stares at Steve’s wide smile and bright eyes and pulls all the strength he’s ever been given from the boy who fought the world at his side.

Now or never.

“There’s something I need to tell you, about me and about me and Steve.”

~~~

It’s late December when Bucky finally gets the call.

He leaves work early enough to pick Rebecca up from school. She’s starting her senior year and Bucky couldn’t be more proud. She’s gotten early college acceptance letters from three out of her top five schools and it’s just a matter of narrowing it down. There’s a good two inches of snow on the ground as he pulls up to the school.

He waits behind a few other cars until he sees his sister’s curls bouncing down the steps and lays on the horn. Bucky sees Rebecca twist over her shoulder and throw him a glare as she heads toward his car. Her coat takes up half the front seat as she flops in and her hair takes up the rest. She moves the bunch of flowers between them and buckles up. “You never pick me up from school, Jamie. What gives?”

“I got the call today. About Steve’s gravestone. It’s finally here,” he says quietly, pulling out of the parking lot.

Rebecca goes quiet and her smile fades. There’s worry in her dark brown eyes as she whispers, “Are you okay?”

Bucky’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel and he chews on the inside of his cheek. “I think so. It’s just…” Her hand reaches out to touch his arm and he forces a smile at his sister. “I just miss him, y’know.”

The cemetery is quiet when they arrive, snow falling in slow, heavy flakes from the sky. He knows the route by heart, has come here damn near every day it seems. He could walk the paths with his eyes closed, could do it in his sleep, could weather any storm to bring them back together. But right now, all Bucky can do is linger in the car, staring across the path from where Steve’s grave is. Rebecca’s voice shakes him out of his trance as she says, “Come on, you can do this.”

He takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay. For Steve.”

His boots crunch through the snow and Rebecca hooks her arm through his elbow as they walk through the rows of graves. His sister leans her head on his shoulder and tilts her head up to meet his eyes. “I think I made a decision. I’m gonna go to NYU next year,” she says. “And I want you to come with me. I want you to come back to school.”

Bucky’s breath billows from his nose in white clouds as he pulls Rebecca closer to him. “I’ll think about it, okay? It’s what Steve would have wanted.”

They carve a path down to the back of the cemetery, finally stopping at the pair of headstones, one worn from the years, one new. Bucky reaches out and brushes the snow off the first one, fingers catching the names _‘Sarah Siobhan Rogers’_ and _‘Joseph Andrew Rogers’._ He pulls a single white flower from the bunch in his hand and places it on the headstone before turning to the other one.

It had been a process to get it, with delays and getting lost in transit, but it’s finally here. His throat feels tight as he clears the snow and places the bouquet of flowers at its base. It’s a simple headstone, nothing fancy because he knew that wasn’t what Steve would have wanted.

_Steven Grant Rogers_  
_July 4th, 1967—September 22nd, 1987_  
_Beloved_

“It’s perfect, Jamie,” Rebecca whispers, putting her hand out on his shoulder. “He would’ve loved it.”

Bucky nods, pressing his hand to Steve’s name and murmuring, “Yeah, he would’ve.” He lets out a soft sigh and whispers, “I love you, Stevie,” before rising to his feet. Slinging an arm over Rebecca’s shoulder, he pulls her in close and kisses her temple. “Come on,” he says as they turn back to his old, beat up car. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y’all enjoyed the ride! Thanks for everyone who stuck by reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you are enjoying this so far! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


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